Homecoming: The Voyager Coalition, Vol 2
by ForceForGood
Summary: After Voyager's return, the crew begin to forge their new futures in the Alpha Quadrant. Will the hard-won unity of the crew survive? Part 2 of a novel replacing "Endgame." Chapter 14: Kathryn decides it's past time to let her hair down and have a little fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Homecoming: The Voyager Coalition, Vol. 2

 **Description:** Janeway and the Voyager crew have returned home at last, but their troubles aren't over yet. Chakotay and the other Maquis face a rocky road to acceptance while trying to heal old wounds newly reopened, and Janeway faces a difficult personal choice she never thought she'd have to make.

 **Author's note:** This is the second volume of a slightly A/U story that is a sequel to my short stories "Year of Hell, Season of Hope" and "Equinox: At the Gate of Daybreak." I have designed this story to be able to stand alone, however, if you don't wish to read the others first.

This story replaces the plot of "Endgame," an episode which disappointed me for a number of reasons. I swore the day I watched it that I would rewrite the finale myself, and 16 years later, I've finally done it. I would also like to note that I have not read any of the post-homecoming Voyager novels, so my story will not match up with them (unless by sheer coincidence!) Rest assured this story will be completed, as I already have most of it written.

Includes the pairings Janeway/Chakotay and Paris/Torres.

 **Rating:** K+ (mild language, no violence, no explicit sex/nudity, but some references to marital intimacy)

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the intellectual rights to Star Trek, and I don't receive payment for my fanfiction. I do it for the sheer joy of it!

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Captain Kathryn Janeway slouched through the doorway into the new apartment she had been assigned and kicked off her high heels, leaving them carelessly in the middle of the floor. She was so tired she could hardly see straight - although the short walk through the salt-tangy air of San Francisco had revived her somewhat - but looking around, she realized she had been given spacious, comfortable quarters, nicer than the rooms she'd had at headquarters before getting Voyager, and they were already furnished and decorated, too.

She looked blearily at the grandfather clock in the common room. The hour hand was pointing at the 2. She had stayed at Voyager's welcome-home reception almost to the bitter end. Despite Chakotay's accusations of working at her own party, she had enjoyed herself immensely and become reacquainted with a lot of old friends and colleagues she had really missed. It had been a wonderful night, a homecoming every bit as nice as the one she had dreamed of.

She went into the bedroom and unfastened her dress, stepping out of its stiff folds and then draping it across a chair. Clad in a white slip, she went into the bathroom to remove her jewelry and wash off her makeup. The white rose Q had tucked into her hair went into a drinking glass filled with water. She was too tired to bother replicating a vase tonight.

She opened a drawer and saw that her clothes had been unpacked for her. Whoever had prepared her apartment had even turned the bed down. Sleepily, she changed into a silky nightgown and collapsed into bed. She didn't bother telling the computer to wake her at any particular time. She would wake up whenever she woke up, and then she would go straight home to Indiana. Her mom knew not to expect her too early.

* * *

Kathryn was woken out of a dead sleep, however, by an incessant beeping. For a long moment, she blinked in the darkness and tried to remember where she was and why she wasn't in her quarters back on Voyager.

 _Beep beep beep._

Finally, her brain started moving again, and she staggered out of bed, made her way to the closet, and put on a dressing gown.

 _Beep beep beep._

It was coming from the common room. She turned on the lights, dim setting, and went toward the beeps. They were coming from the desktop computer, which had a Federation seal on the monitor to indicate the call was from someone in Starfleet. The grandfather clock said it was a quarter past four in the morning.

"You've got to be kidding," she grumbled.

Running her fingers through her tangled hair, she tried to look alert as she sat down and accepted the call.

An image of Owen Paris flashed up on the screen. He was wearing a bathrobe and the white hair on the sides of his head was rumpled, too. She tried not to stare. In all their years of service together, she had never seen him anything but pressed and polished, except during combat situations. Well, she comforted herself, at least she didn't have to be embarrassed about her own present appearance.

"Katie," Owen said. "I'm so sorry to wake you, tonight of all nights, but... we have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" she asked.

Owen sighed. "I just got a call from Lieutenant Commander Neal Caldwell. He served with me on the Wyoming, but now he works security here at headquarters under the command of Nelson."

"Who?" she said, mentally kicking herself for not replicating some coffee before answering Owen's call. She was having a terrible time seeing through her own brain-fog.

Owen rubbed at his face. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting you don't know. Admiral Kurt Nelson. He's head of Starfleet Security now."

"Oh."

"Caldwell just now got off duty and called me to tell me - against orders, I might add - what he has been doing tonight. Apparently, he's been processing-" Owen broke off, and looked up briefly - "-he's been processing members of your crew."

" _What?_ " she barked out.

"Yes."

"Owen," she said, wide awake now and growing angry. "You promised me... Hayes promised me... you all swore up and down that this wasn't going to happen!"

"I know," Owen said tersely. "We were told it wouldn't, but Nelson went over our heads. Look, Katie, you can't take it personally. Everyone's still paranoid after the shapeshifter incidents."

She didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and frankly she didn't care. "Who did they take?" she demanded. "The Maquis? The Equinox crew?"

"Both," Owen said. "They've all been removed from your command and taken into custody."

"On their first night home?!" She leaned forward, fists clenched. "They should be with their families now!" She fought for a modicum of control. "Where are they being held? At the central lockup? Or have they already been taken to a penal colony?"

"It isn't quite as bad as that," Owen said. "Apparently they're confined to quarters here in San Francisco, under guard, and their combadges confiscated. Nelson said that in the morning, they would be tagged with security anklets and then permitted to go home to their families, although they'll be required to stay planetside until their trials in a few months."

"This is unacceptable," she said, her voice deepening in anger. "My crew is _not_ a flight risk. Haven't I already given Starfleet Command my personal guarantee on that point? Where exactly are they being held?"

Owen knew exactly where she was going with this. "Don't go and do anything foolish, Katie," he said. "I know it's a humiliating thing to be tagged like that, but at least they'll be allowed to go home."

"It isn't the humiliation, Owen," she said. "It's the precedence. It isn't going to help their cause with the courts and boards of inquiry, if they've been tagged like wild animals." A memory rose up in her mind of the day she had recruited Tom Paris for the mission to the Badlands, and the palpable sense of shame in his countenance thanks to the heavy security anklet encircling his leg. A sudden thought struck her. "They didn't take Tom, too, did they?"

Owen sighed. "Not exactly. His name wasn't on the list. He fulfilled his agreement with the parole board by serving with you, and I've been told his rank will be confirmed. But he was with B'Elanna when they tried to leave the reception last night. Two officers stopped B'Elanna and asked to speak with her alone. Tom must have had some suspicion about what was happening, because he refused to let them separate him from his wife. He kicked up enough of a fuss that they eventually let him go into confinement with her and the baby. It's the only reason we even found out about all of this tonight. Caldwell knew I would want to know what had happened to my son."

"Owen," she said. "We can't let this happen."

"There's only so much I can do," he said wearily. "Nelson has seniority over me, and as head of security he has the discretion to do what he feels is necessary to protect Starfleet's interests. I can file a protest - and I will, first thing in the morning - but everyone knows my son is on your crew and they won't expect me to be objective about this. I don't know how seriously I'll be taken."

"Do whatever you need to do," Kathryn said. "And I'll do what I need to do."

When the call with Owen had ended, she grimly initiated a transmission to Tuvok.

* * *

Chakotay sat cross-legged on the floor of the quarters that were currently serving as his prison, and stared at the wall.

He had been taken to one of the many dormitories typically assigned to cadets, now vacated for the summer, when a significant number of cadets returned to their families for a break or left to study abroad. This one was built to hold six students, judging by the bunk beds installed in each of the three bedrooms, but Chakotay had been put in here alone. Can't have the Maquis conspiring with each other, it seemed. He had tried knocking on the walls to either side of his quarters, and each time someone had knocked back, but the walls were too thick to hear voices clearly. No way to know who his neighbors were.

He had been searched, his combadge had been confiscated, and the computer interface in here had been taken offline, as well as the replicator. Some water and shelf-stable food had been left on the table. That made it better than a Cardassian prison, at least. He had been in plenty of worse places, come to think of it. But coming in contrast to the welcome-home they'd gotten yesterday, it seemed very bleak.

Chakotay glanced at the window, where the pre-dawn light was beginning to reveal the neat landscaping in the courtyard outside, and touch the shoulders of the security guards stationed at each entrance to the building. It was around 0600. Sekaya must be worried by now, unless she had fallen asleep waiting for him. He could only imagine what her reaction would be when she woke up and found that he wasn't there and wasn't responding to calls. To say she had been skeptical of his assurances that Starfleet was not going to arrest him was an understatement.

And now she had been proven correct. Couldn't he just see Sekaya's face when he walked through the door sporting the security anklet the guards had promised he would receive in the morning? As if she needed any more reasons to hate the Federation.

Here he had spent a sleepless night, going over and over in his mind all the choices he had made that had led him to this point, and trying and failing to identify a single moment in which he had done something he thoroughly regretted. Had there been choices he might have made differently, knowing what he knew now? Perhaps. Yet he had always done what he believed to be right in the moment the choice was presented to him. What more could he have done? What more could anyone do?

Now the time for choices was over. Now his fate rested in the choices of others.

He could not remember a time when he felt so helpless.

It seemed a good time to pray. Chakotay wanted to do it properly, with the akoonah, but last night when the guards brought him the bag he had packed to take to Huatabampo - with the contents completely rearranged - he had not found his akoonah. The guards said that all devices had been confiscated. He pointed out that there was nothing in an akoonah that could be used as a weapon or a communication device. They had shrugged and told him to take it up with Admiral Nelson, and then they waited while he changed into civilian clothing, and took his uniform away and left him alone, sealing the door behind them.

At least he had the other items in his medicine bundle. He unwrapped them now, the bird's wing and the river stone, and left them resting on the pudu skin. He touched the stone with one finger.

It was marked with a spiral swirl crossed by two long lines: the chah-mooz-ee, the ancient symbol of the Rubber Tree People since the days of the Sky Spirits. No one knew for certain what the source of the symbol was, but when Chakotay had discovered the planet of the Sky Spirits in the Delta Quadrant, for the first time it had occurred to him that, as a space-faring people, the Sky Spirits may have taken the symbol of the galaxy itself as their own. As for the lines crossing the swirl, maybe they represented paths across the galaxy. Wormholes, perhaps, or simply the route taken by the ancient Sky Spirits from their home to Earth. The same path Voyager had traced on their way home.

Not for the first time, he marveled again at the unlikelihood of it, that of all the billions of planets in the Delta Quadrant, he should stumble upon one so intimately connected with the history of his own people. An accident? A statistical anomaly? A cosmic coincidence? That was what he said as a young man, whenever he heard people in his community claiming miracles or visions from some spirit or another. They only saw what they wanted to see. Or they were lovable but crazy old men, like his grandfather, confusing mental frailties for spirituality. And young Chakotay, having already embraced the Starfleet way in his heart, having fallen in love with sciences and inventions and cold hard observable reality, had become ashamed of his own heritage. His own people. His own father.

What an easy thing it was, to doubt someone else's faith. It was another thing entirely to reject the experiences he had lived himself. Once, he would have looked at Voyager's unlikely return home as a "miracle" only in the human sense of the word, and softened it with a thousand hedges, attributing it to luck, to skill, to determination, to the triumph of science and warp cores and slipstream drives and Borg conduits and Kathryn Janeway. And these explanations were all true enough. They all answered the "what" question, as Kolopak had loved to say. _What_ brought Voyager home? This question could be answered by cold hard observable reality.

A far more difficult question to answer was: Why?

If he knew that, it might be a little easier to bear the coming storm. If there were some overarching purpose to their journey, some great blessing to counteract all the grief that occurred and all that was yet to come, then he could endure his trial with patience.

Maybe.

 _Father, Mother, Grandfather, help me bear it with patience. Help me find the reasons why._

A loud pounding shattered the early-morning stillness.

"Fifteen minutes!" a man's voice shouted through the door. A few moments later, he heard another, fainter thumping, and another call: "Fifteen minutes!"

Chakotay rose, stiffly: at his age it was getting more difficult to sit on the floor like that for any length of time. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face and combed his hair. He couldn't shave. They'd taken his razor. He went back out to the common room and packed all his things back in his bag and then forced himself to eat something, although he wasn't hungry.

Another knock on the door. Immediately it slid open, and there was a pair of armed guards to escort him out. They scanned his body again and then hustled him into the corridor, leaving his bag behind. Chakotay hoped he would get it back at some point.

There were other guards in the corridor, and more of Voyager's crew being brought out of their quarters and herded into a group. All of them were dressed in civilian clothing. There was Ken Dalby, and Chell, and Mariah Henley, and Curtis Ayala. Ayala nodded to Chakotay as he joined the rest under the watchful eyes of their guards, but they didn't say anything to each other. What was there to say?

Dalby was not so quiet. "Where are you taking us?" he demanded of a pair of guards who were busy scanning Ann Smithee in the doorway of her quarters.

They didn't answer as they switched off the equipment and moved Smithee into place with the rest of them.

"Hey Starfleet! I'm talking to you!" Dalby snapped, face reddening.

"Dalby."

Dalby turned his glare on Chakotay. "What?"

"Shut up."

"Why should I?" Dalby demanded. "I didn't survive the Bajoran frontier, and the Cardassian War, and every alien race in the Delta Quadrant _shooting_ at me, just to be pushed around by a bunch of Starfleet goons the first day I get home! Hey!" Dalby spoke to the nearest guard very slowly and distinctly, as if to a child. "Where. Are. You. Taking. Us?"

"To have the terms of your parole explained to you," one of the guards answered quietly. Not the one Dalby had spoken to - _he_ was silent and grim-jawed, standing a few feet away with his hand on his phaser. This one was a Bajoran woman in a lieutenant's uniform, with her black hair pulled back in a tight bun.

"What, don't tell me you're on their side?" Dalby said to her in disbelief. "Why didn't you enlist with the Bajoran Militia?" Henley was looking at the Bajoran woman with a similar expression of disgust.

"Shut up, Dalby," Chakotay said again, loud and clear. "Anything you say or do will just make it worse."

"Or what?" Dalby said, turning his contempt on Chakotay. "You'll throw me in the Brig? Looks like they took your uniform, too. I guess I don't take orders from you anymore."

His attitude was annoying, but it was better for him to unleash his rage against Chakotay than against the guards. "The way I remember it, you took orders from me before I wore a uniform," Chakotay pointed out quietly. "Or do you only answer to rank now, just like the Starfleet officers you've always claimed to hate?"

Dalby stewed over that, but he did shut up. Possibly he was remembering what had happened the last time he had insisted Chakotay deal with him "the Maquis way."

"Let's move!" called one of the guards. The six Voyager crewmembers, flanked by six guards, were marched down the corridor, through an annex and out the doors into the cool breeze of a May morning in San Francisco. The pair of guards in front led them north, toward a large administrative building in the midst of the dormitories.

There was a clatter of boots behind them. Chakotay turned back, squinting against the glare of the rising sun, and raised a hand to shade his eyes. There was another group of six prisoners behind them. Oddly, one of them was still in uniform. Not the new gray-shouldered uniform like the guards wore, but the old style, with command red on top. Chakotay strained his eyes to see, and after a minute managed to catch a glimpse through the bodies well enough to recognize Tom Paris. He had one arm around B'Elanna, who was holding a small white bundle in her arms. Little Miral, probably.

That was when Chakotay felt his first spurt of rage. To lock up people like Dalby and Ayala and himself for war crimes was one thing. To lock up a new mother with her small baby was another thing entirely. Suddenly it was all he could do not to turn and unleash abuse indiscriminately at the nearest guard, just as Dalby had been doing.

As a red flow of anger seeped through Chakotay's brain, there was one small corner that understood, intellectually, that B'Elanna stood accused of the same crime as the rest of them, and that they had all been housed in reasonably comfortable quarters, nothing inadequate for the care of an infant... but he wasn't inclined to feel reasonable just then.

 _Grandfather, help me bear it with patience._

They had arrived at the administrative building. Chakotay recognized it as the place he had come as a cadet to submit his application for Command School. The plaza outside was deserted this early in the morning. Or so Chakotay thought at first. Then he noticed a stooped figure in a straw hat and brown overalls working in a flowerbed planted near the entrance, weeding between clusters of petunias arranged in the asymmetrical arrowhead shape of the Starfleet insignia.

As they filed past, the old man slowly straightened up, pressing one hand against his lower back, and surveyed the groups of prisoners parading past.

"Morning, Boothby," the Bajoran guard said, raising one hand in greeting.

"Morning, Anara," Boothby said in his cracked voice. His eyes slid past her until he locked eyes with Chakotay, and both tufted eyebrows waggled up and down meaningfully.

Distracted by the sight of Boothby, who almost seemed to be trying to give him some sort of cryptic message with his eyebrows, Chakotay bumped into Henley as everyone suddenly halted before the doors. There was a brief pause as the guards used the retinal scan to gain entrance.

"Hey, fellas," Boothby called out gruffly from behind them, waving his spade in the air. "I think you got the wrong man."

More than one of the guards looked back at the old groundskeeper, and a few of them chuckled quietly as they all filed inside.

"Must be getting senile," he heard one of the guards murmur to another. "He's got to be close on a century by now. You'd think he would retire."

Inside the building it seemed dim and gray, compared to the dawning light outside. Chakotay and the others were guided through the foyer under watchful eyes and taken toward a large meeting room with the door propped open. Besides the two men in security gold standing guard on either side of the door, there was another pair a little further off down the hall, with their heads close together as if in quiet conversation. Chakotay had only spared them a passing glance, but suddenly Ayala dug an elbow into his ribs and silently nodded toward the pair.

Chakotay looked again and this time, recognition dawned. Harry Kim and Tuvok.

The two weren't even looking in their direction, but Chakotay felt a sudden relief course through his veins. It couldn't be a coincidence that they were here. Despite the confiscated combadges, somehow they had found out what was happening anyway. And if Harry and Tuvok knew, so did Kathryn.

No, wait. Not good. Because if Kathryn knew, she would come too. And when she came, she was going to kick up a fuss and annoy the brass, and make a bad name for herself at a time when she could least afford to do so. She was just stubborn enough that he could see her getting herself reprimanded for insubordination. Silently Chakotay cursed to himself. He should have known. He _did_ know, all along, that something of this sort was going to happen. There was no way to avoid the fact that he and his crew would have to face the music when they got home, and at the same time there was no one who could stop Kathryn Janeway when she was on the warpath, fighting to protect her own. This was a showdown that had been eight years in the making, whether anyone in Starfleet Command knew it or not. Well, he had a feeling they would know pretty soon.

The six of them were brought into the meeting room. Tom and B'Elanna's group came in practically on their heels.

The rest of Chakotay's old crew and the entire Equinox crew were already here. Chakotay saw Marla Gilmore, looking pale and resigned, having her handprint and retinal scan recorded by a security officer at the front of the room. James Morrow was next in a ragged line of Voyager crewmembers in civilian clothing waiting to be processed. A long table down the side of the room held several crates full of security anklets awaiting their new owners.

Another security officer standing by the door began to give a well-rehearsed speech in a bored tone of voice to Chakotay and the other new arrivals. "My name is Lieutenant Hollen. Stand in line to have your bio-identifiers recorded. Proceed in an orderly fashion, with no talking or changing positions in line. When one of the officers in the room has cleared you, take a seat and await further instructions. You are now under the command of Admiral Kurt Nelson, who will explain the terms of your parole when he arrives. You will then be fitted with security anklets and permitted to leave if you agree to those terms."

Chakotay and the others shuffled obediently into line. Chakotay ended up standing behind B'Elanna and Tom, who had his arm around B'Elanna. She was holding little Miral, who was sound asleep, swaddled tightly in a blanket.

"Did you see them?" Chakotay murmured to Tom and B'Elanna.

"See who?" she whispered back.

"I said no talking!" Hollen snapped at them.

When the man had turned his attention elsewhere, Chakotay caught B'Elanna's eye and then jerked his head toward the door. She looked over and her eyes widened as she saw Harry Kim sticking his head through the door.

"Voyager crew?" Harry asked Hollen.

"Yeah. You got another group? Bring them in."

Harry stepped aside from the doorway, and crewmembers began to file in. But they weren't anyone from Chakotay's old crew or the Equinox. They were all from Voyager's original crew: Samantha Wildman, Golwat, Susan Nicoletti, William McKenzie, and Michael Parsons.

Some of those in the back of the line to be processed were watching with surprised expressions, having recognized the sound of Harry's voice and turned to see what was happening. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Hollen was frowning deeply at Harry's group. "Why are they still in uniform?" he asked abruptly.

"We weren't instructed otherwise," Harry said. Somehow he managed to sound only slightly puzzled, as though there had simply been some small mixup.

Hollen sighed loudly, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "The admiral isn't going to like it," he said. He looked Wildman over. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Samantha Wildman, sir."

The officer looked over the PADD he was holding. He scrolled back and forth several times and frowned again.

"You aren't on my list," he said. "Are you from the Equinox or the Val Jean?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Chakotay could see Tuvok now standing at the doorway, and another group of uniformed Voyager crewmembers were quietly slipping past him into the room.

"I'm assigned to Voyager," Wildman said. "All of us here are."

Hollen was growing irritated. "Yes, but before that!"

Now Joe Carey was leading in another six. More and more of the crewmembers in line to be processed were noticing the steady flow of people into the room, and they were fighting to hide their relief as they recognized their friends' faces and realized what was going on.

"I was assigned to Deep Space 9 before that, sir," Wildman said.

"Then..." Hollen was confused now. "You weren't on the Equinox or Maquis crews at all?"

"I don't understand the question, sir," Wildman said. "There's only one crew on Voyager."

She spoke quietly, but her words seemed to carry like electricity through the room. Almost everyone was looking her way now, and a strange hush fell over them. Lieutenant Hollen noticed the change in atmosphere and looked around, suddenly uneasy, but finally his eyes fell on Harry Kim and he squared his shoulders.

"You!" he said. "Why did you bring her in? She isn't on the list."

"I'm following Admiral Nelson's orders, same as you," Kim said. "The Voyager crew is to report for processing."

"Yes, but not the _whole_ crew!" Hollen looked around the room, bewildered. "There's only supposed to be 62 here... it looks like we have a hundred! Are you telling me all these people in uniform aren't even from the Equinox or the Val Jean? They weren't supposed to be arrested!"

"None of them were supposed to be arrested."

The voice of Kathryn Janeway cut clearly across the entire room, and there was a sudden movement near the door as everyone stepped back and made way for her. Looking across the now-crowded room, Chakotay realized that Hollen was wrong - there were far more than 100 crewmembers here. It looked to him as though the entire crew of Voyager had arrived for the occasion. There were Neelix and Seven coming right behind Kathryn, and the Doctor could be seen squeezing between Billy Telfer and Vorik to get inside the door. The room could barely contain them all.

As for Kathryn herself, she couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of sleep last night, but she didn't look tired in the slightest. She had that set look on her face that Chakotay knew oh-so-well, the one that denoted a carefully-controlled inner rage that was far more dangerous than any raw fury. It was the first time Chakotay had seen her wearing the new style of uniform, and the grim gray-and-black color scheme seemed to suit her mood to a T.

"Captain Janeway," Lieutenant Hollen said, looking uncertain and a little dismayed. "Sir, you were not ordered to report here today."

"Oh, but I was," she said quietly. "Admiral Nelson wanted the Voyager crew to be brought here. I am a member of Voyager's crew, am I not?"

Hollen didn't have an immediate reply to this. Several of the security officers from the front of the room joined him, and the four of them turned away from Kathryn with their heads close together and held a hasty, whispered conference.

Chakotay felt emboldened enough to leave his place in the line and make his way to Kathryn's side. He touched her arm and leaned in close to murmur in her ear: "Don't do anything rash." She turned to him and gave him an unwavering blue look as her only answer. This was not exactly encouraging.

The huddled conference was breaking up. Three of the security officers positioned themselves side-by-side in front of Kathryn while Hollen nudged his way through the crowd and headed out the door.

"Hollen to Nelson," they heard him say into his combadge as he retreated down the deserted corridor. "We have a problem, sir."

Into the sudden silence remaining in the room, Neelix spoke up.

"I wasn't aware a crew reunion constituted a problem," he said.

The tension in the room shattered. Everyone from Voyager laughed, some of them with a slight edge of hysteria in their voices. Even Kathryn smiled. The remaining security officers watched them warily, hands hovering near their holstered phasers.

Less than a minute later, they heard rapid footsteps approaching, and about a dozen more security officers came into the room and efficiently distributed themselves throughout the crowd.

Everyone waited in silence. The room was growing hot and uncomfortable from the press of bodies, but no one uttered a complaint. Chakotay saw B'Elanna loosening the blanket around Miral, who stirred and whimpered softly in her sleep.

Chakotay sidled closer to Kathryn and murmured quietly in her ear: "What makes you think you can talk Nelson out of this?"

She met his gaze levelly. "I doubt I can," she said quietly.

Chakotay stared at her. "Then why-"

Just then, more footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor. The people near the door did their best to move aside, and soon Lieutenant Hollen reappeared, slightly behind and to the right of Admiral Nelson.

Nelson was not a tall man, or a broad-shouldered one, but he had the kind of wiry build that often accompanied surprising strength.

"Well, well, well," he said briskly, coming forward through the crowd to face Kathryn. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Captain Janeway. What can I do for you?"

Kathryn was clearly in no mood for pleasantries, because she cut straight to the chase. "You can have your men gather up those security anklets and take them away, sir," she said. "They won't be necessary."

"I disagree," Nelson said coolly. "And since these detainees are no longer under your command, Captain, it is my opinion and not yours that matters. In fact, I think you must be well aware that your presence here is completely inappropriate. How did you get into the building?"

Kathryn faced Nelson levelly. "I've personally met with every single one of my crewmembers whom you arrested, Admiral. They gave me their word that they won't be going anywhere before their trials. And you have _my_ word. They are not a flight risk. You don't need to tag them."

Nelson did not look at all discomfited by Kathryn's defiance, despite being closely surrounded by unsmiling Voyager crewmembers. "Tagging is a routine security measure, nothing overly burdensome," the admiral said. "Hardly worth the effort to raise an objection, if you ask me. If your crew lacks the courage to accept responsibility for their actions, Captain, that is not my problem."

"Courage?" Kathryn repeated softly. "If you'd like to talk about courage, Admiral, let's talk about the courage it takes to serve faithfully on a Starfleet ship, knowing that those at the top back home despise you and everything you stand for. Let's talk about the courage it takes to _choose_ to return to Federation space, at great personal cost, knowing that justice awaits you there." She put one slim hand on Chakotay's shoulder. "There are people in this room who just a week ago subjected themselves to the pain of Borg assimilation, _repeatedly_ , so that they could save your life and the lives of everyone here on Earth." Her voice deepened with scorn. "If they didn't run from all that, Admiral, what makes you think they'll run from _you_?"

Admiral Nelson crossed his arms and studied Kathryn for a long moment. Finally, he spoke in a mild voice:

"I don't know how things are in the great wilds of the Delta Quadrant, Captain, but back here on planet Earth, we have a little something I like to call a command structure." His voice grew firmer. "Perhaps you've forgotten: it means that orders are not negotiable. I'm afraid you've wasted your time here, Captain. The detainees will be tagged so that Starfleet Command can keep a lock on their locations until such time as justice is served. Feel free to file a formal complaint if you wish; in the meantime, I'm going to have to ask you and your crew to leave the room so my team can carry out their duty."

"But you've just said that my crew is _not_ free to go," Kathryn said, her voice low and velvety smooth.

For the first time, Admiral Nelson looked exasperated. "Those of your crew who originated from the Val Jean and the Equinox have to stay. The rest of you have to go."

Kathryn's voice went darker and harder. "I only have one crew, Admiral."

"If I may, Admiral," Tuvok broke in unexpectedly, drawing the attention of both of them. He was standing at ease, hands clasped loosely together, expression serene. "I believe what Captain Janeway is attempting to establish is a syllogism: if the Voyager crew must submit to being tagged, and if there is only one Voyager crew, then logically, everyone on the crew must submit to being tagged."

"Perhaps the equation would be clearer in written form," Seven added.

"Translation? If you tag one of us, you tag all of us," Harry said.

"I'd like to volunteer to be tagged," Neelix chimed in eagerly.

"And me," Dr. Zimmerman said.

A chorus of voices joined in, from every corner of the room, as crewmembers from every department of the ship offered themselves for tagging. Admiral Nelson turned slowly and met their eyes one by one, clearly taken off guard by this new turn of events. When he turned back to Kathryn, she looked at him levelly and said, "I'd like to be first."

" _No_ ," Chakotay said sharply.

"It's my decision," Kathryn said firmly, giving him a look that made it clear there would be no talking her out of this. "I'll be the first to get one, and the last to take it off. Captain's prerogative."

Nelson studied Kathryn with narrowed eyes for a long moment, and then shrugged one shoulder.

"Be my guest," Nelson said. "Tag anyone who wants it," he added to Hollen as he turned to leave.

"But sir!" Hollen's eyes widened as he rushed to catch up to the admiral. "We don't have enough anklets for _all_ of them-"

"Then have more brought down," Nelson said as the Voyagers quickly made way to let him out of the room.

"What about the civilians, sir?" Hollen asked the admiral in an undertone, nodding toward Neelix and Seven.

"What about them?"

"We don't have the authority to do anything to _them_."

"We aren't doing anything to them," Admiral Nelson said coolly. "They requested a security anklet, and we're being kind enough to provide them." And with that, he strode out the door.

As soon as the admiral was gone, everyone went quiet. Even the security guards looked stunned at what had just transpired, and they looked at one another reluctantly, as if waiting for someone else to make the first move.

As for Chakotay, it was all he could do to suppress his fury. _Why_ did Kathryn have to be so stubborn? There were times it was her greatest asset, and then there were times like this when she just didn't know when to quit. How was it supposed to help anyone if she threw herself on her sword?

Hollen was the first to recover, and he began giving his team instructions in a low, professional tone.

"Have everyone form into two lines, and get them going down both sides of the table," he told them. "Let's do this as quickly as possible. Captain Janeway, I believe you wanted to be first? This way, please."

Kathryn followed him to the front of the line and submitted quietly as Hollen held a retinal scanner up to her eye and then placed her hand on the scanner. When that was done, he took an anklet from the box on the table, its links clicking in his hand. He looked into Kathryn's eyes, hesitated, and then slowly sank to his knees and carefully fastened the device onto her ankle.

Chakotay was next. He had been so busy being angry at Kathryn, he had forgotten his own dread, but as the device clicked into place, it seemed so much heavier on his leg than it really was. He was going to have to wear this for months. Maybe years. Maybe the rest of his life.

Their part completed, Chakotay and Kathryn stepped back out of the way to watch as the rest of the crew was tagged. A security guard at the front of the room began reciting the conditions of parole in a loud voice so that everyone could hear. It seemed they were forbidden from going off-planet. Forbidden from carrying a phaser. They were warned their communications could be monitored. Nearby, Paris was wearing a resigned "here we go again" expression on his face.

The line shuffled forward. Crewmembers who had been processed began to leave the room in twos and threes. The room began to slowly clear.

Chakotay glanced across to the other side of the table. The pair of security officers there, who had been working efficiently up until now, seemed to have hit a snag.

"What do I do about him?" one of them whispered to another, jerking his thumb toward the Doctor, who had his foot planted heroically on a chair, waiting for his turn.

"Tag him, same as the others!" his companion replied.

"But he's a _hologram_!" the man hissed. "He doesn't have a retina to scan, and he can get out of the anklet in about a second!"

The other rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter! The admiral said tag everyone who wants to be tagged, so tag him!"

At last, the last few crewmembers were processed and left. Kathryn and Chakotay began to follow Vorik and D'Angelo out the door, but they paused when, behind them, Hollen spoke up.

"Captain?"

Kathryn turned back to face him. Hollen hesitated a moment, his fists swinging uncomfortably by his sides, and then he blurted out, "I'm sorry, sir. I just want you to know that… we're all grateful for what you did at Starbase 3. All of you," he added, glancing at Chakotay as well.

Kathryn gave him a ghost of smile, and then left the room, with Chakotay by her side.

"Well, I think that went well, don't you?" Kathryn said in a conversational tone.

" _Kathryn_ ," Chakotay said.

"What?"

"This is exactly what I didn't want," Chakotay said with some heat.

"Wasn't it one of the American revolutionaries who said something about hanging together rather than hanging separately?" Janeway asked.

"I don't want anyone _hanging_ , least of all you!" Chakotay said vehemently.

Her serenity was maddening. "Relax, Commander. This is what winning looks like."

Chakotay looked down at Kathryn's anklet and scowled. "Well, I don't like the looks of it."

"Really? I think it sets off my uniform very nicely."

Fury and worry and gratitude clashed vigorously for dominance in Chakotay's brain, and then, as he had so many times before in his dealings with Kathryn Janeway, he sighed and gave up trying to figure out which emotion to entertain, and let them all be. It was just how Kathryn was: the problem wasn't that there were times he wanted to shake her and other times that he wanted to kiss her... it was that he so often felt both urges _at the same time_.

There were days when he strongly suspected that he could have headed off nine-tenths of their infamous arguments at the pass, if only he'd been free to take the latter tactic. The fight-it-out-in-the-Ready-Room tactic had decidedly mixed results. One of these days he was going to have to try it the other way.

Unfortunately, this was neither the time nor the place. They paused at the entrance to wait for the security officers to unlock the doors and let them out, which reminded Chakotay of something. As soon as they were out of earshot, he leaned toward Kathryn and murmured, "How _did_ you get everyone into the building? It was locked down tight."

Kathryn favored him with a crooked smile. "Oh, I asked a friend of ours for a favor," she said. They passed Boothby, still industriously digging away in the flowerbed, and Kathryn gave him a wave.

"Good morning, Boothby," she said cheerfully.

He doffed his cap politely. "Morning, Kathryn," he said, and then he inexplicably gave Chakotay a wink as they passed by.

"Do you mean to tell me…" Chakotay began in amazement, glancing back at Boothby as they continued to walk down the sidewalk.

"Mmm-hmm," Kathryn confirmed, carefully keeping her voice down. "Well, he's the groundskeeper, after all. He has access to almost every building in Headquarters. And he's really very fond of you, you know. It wasn't hard to convince him."

Chakotay didn't know whether to smile at Kathryn or scold her. "With a mindset like that, you would have made a fine Maquis soldier."

She shrugged casually. "I learned from the best."

"Now that your first morning back on Earth has been spoiled," Chakotay said, "at least tell me you're going to go home and take your vacation now."

"I will," she promised. "There's just one more stop I need to make."

"Kathryn…" he said warningly.

"I'm just going to get a cup of coffee from the captains' club first. I am allowed, aren't I?"

"You know I'm the last person on Earth who would deny you a cup of coffee. And then you'll go home?"

"I promise."

"And no work at all for the next two weeks," Chakotay emphasized. "Don't even call me to check up on me. Just enjoy yourself for a change."

"How could I enjoy myself without you?" she objected.

"I'm sure you'll manage."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** What do you think so far? Let me know in the comments!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Kathryn Janeway stepped into the captain's club and surveyed the scene with as much interest as she could muster, given that she had gotten only a few hours of sleep the night before and wanted nothing more than to go home and go back to sleep. The encounter with Admiral Nelson this morning had been incredibly disheartening after the celebrations of the night before. But she had a job to do, and she couldn't go home until she had seen it through.

Now, the captain's club was packed for the morning rush, with every table occupied by Starfleet officers enjoying their breakfast before heading to their various meetings here at Headquarters. Mostly captains, of course, but also a few officers of lesser rank who could be admitted if they were accompanied by a captain.

Janeway went to stand at the back of the short line of officers waiting for a table to open up. She expected that at some point she might be recognized by someone in the room, given the flurry of media coverage Voyager's homecoming had generated, but it happened even faster than she had guessed; the Vulcan man in front of her turned back to glance at her, and she realized it was Captain Nirak of the T'Vrath, the Vulcan science vessel that had helped protect Voyager as they fought the Borg cubes at Starbase 3.

"Captain Janeway," he said mildly, holding out a hand to shake. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person. Allow me to thank you for your assistance to my crew."

His companions heard his greeting, and instantly she found herself surrounded by several more captains, congratulating her on her crew's performance at Starbase 3 and peppering her with questions about the Delta Quadrant. Their animated conversation drew even more attention, and soon many faces were looking her way, smiling as they recognized her.

Someone nearby started to sing: "For she's a jolly good fellow…"

The chorus was quickly taken up by many more voices, until everyone in the room was singing loudly and enthusiastically. "...which nobody can deny! Which nobody can deny..."

It was simultaneously gratifying and incredibly embarrassing, but Kathryn gritted her teeth and smiled at everyone as they sang, reminding herself that this wasn't about her ego, it was about her crew.

"What were you planning to order, Captain?" Nirak asked her after the song ended, as more captains crowded around to talk to her and it became clear that she was not going to make it to a table anytime soon.

She answered automatically. "Coffee, black."

"Please, allow me to get it for you."

"Kathryn! Kathryn!"

She turned to see Captain Abina Retief making her way through the crowd forming around Kathryn.

"Abi!" she responded warmly. "I _thought_ you were on Earth - I was surprised when I didn't see you at the reception!" She returned the brief hug Abi gave her. After the battle for Starbase 3, Abi and her stranded crew had been whisked away to Earth while Kathryn was still recovering from her brush with assimilation, and she hadn't gotten a chance to catch up with her old shipmate from the U.S.S. Billings.

"I was there last night, and I tried to say hi to you, but first I couldn't fight my way through the crowd around you, and then later…" Retief laughed a high tinkling sound. "Well, let's just say I met someone intriguing and became _very_ distracted."

"In that case, you have my congratulations," Kathryn said with a smile, and then grew serious. "I'm so sorry you lost the Zephyr, Abi."

Regret filled the captain's dark eyes. "I know. My beautiful ship… I don't think it's really sunk in for me yet. But ships can be replaced. I'm just glad my crew made it. I don't think we would have lasted much longer if Voyager hadn't shown up."

"Has Starfleet decided what they'll do with you?"

Captain Retief shook her head. "Not yet. There are a number of starships under construction in the fleet yards right now, but I don't know if any are still unclaimed. I may end up with a hand-me-down."

"I happen to know that the Hispaniola and the Bonaventure haven't been assigned a captain yet," someone else broke in, a middle-aged curly-haired man: one of the few in the room who did not sport four pips on his collar. "Maybe you can snag one of them. The Bonaventure is state-of-the-art; it ought to go to someone with experience."

"Oh?" Retief said, looking intrigued. "Looks like I've found someone who's on the inside track at the shipyards."

"Not really," the curly-haired man said modestly; he had a noticeable Irish brogue. "I'm just a professor of engineering here at the Academy, but the project supervisor at Utopia Planetia is a friend of mine, and he let me take a sneak peek at the Bonaventure. It's shaping up to be a beautiful ship."

Nirak had returned to Kathryn's side and handed her a cup of coffee. She took it gratefully; after a morning like this, she needed the boost.

"Listen, Captain," the engineering professor added, turning back to Kathryn. "I'd love to have your chief engineer come in to do a guest lecture, or maybe even the young lady you rescued from the Borg. My students would love to hear more about transwarp conduits, straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. My name's Miles O'Brien, by the way."

"Excuse me, Captain," someone else broke in before Kathryn could respond - an Aurellian captain with her hair pulled back in a neat updo. "May I ask why you are wearing a security anklet?"

A few of the people closest to Kathryn looked down at her feet in surprise.

"Oh, you mean this?" Kathryn said, turning her ankle slightly to look at the device. "Apparently they're all the rage nowadays. My entire crew is wearing them."

" _What?_ " Retief said.

"What on Earth for?" O'Brien asked blankly.

"I'm not certain I fully understand, myself. You'd have to ask Admiral Nelson," Kathryn said coolly. "They were his orders."

A murmur was spreading throughout the room.

"Your _entire_ crew?" Nirak repeated, eyebrow raised.

"Even the Starfleet officers?" someone else said.

"That's right," Kathryn said. "Everyone."

"After what your crew did at Starbase 3?" Retief said in disbelief. "That's… that's..."

"...that's _outrageous_ ," O'Brien filled in. "Captain, you must have filed a protest."

Kathryn shrugged. "Orders are orders."

"But surely-"

"I'm sure Admiral Nelson's intentions are good, Abi," Kathryn said. "After all, we can't have anyone untrustworthy walking around on Earth unsupervised."

Retief was aghast. "If he considers your crew unworthy of trust, then we should _all_ be walking around in anklets."

The carnival atmosphere in the captain's club dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared. No one seemed to know quite what to say and after a few minutes, seeing that her task had been accomplished, Kathryn excused herself, explaining that she was heading home to Indiana for a few weeks' vacation before going back to work.

"Well, at least you'll get some much-deserved rest," the Aurellian captain said, clearly trying to be positive.

Kathryn smiled wanly. "I'm not sure how restful this vacation will be. I have a lot of appointments with the press lined up in the next few weeks. In fact, I have an interview scheduled for tomorrow morning."

The other captains didn't said anything to that, but she could tell by their uneasy looks that they were picturing what would happen when the reporter noticed Kathryn's anklet, and what the story was likely to say when it hit the newsfeeds.

Kathryn was more than a little curious about that, herself.

* * *

The walk home felt surreal.

Kathryn beamed from Starfleet Headquarters to the Bloomington South Station, a familiar place she had passed through hundreds if not thousands of times during her years in Starfleet. The transporter technician looked up, wide-eyed, from the profile information that must have flashed up on his screen when she rematerialized, but Kathryn made a fast escape before he could engage her in conversation.

Normally she would be happy to chat with anyone and everyone in her community, but right now she was driven by a desperate desire to be _home_ , truly home, and so she walked through the neighborhood quickly, trying to avoid eye contact with the neighbors working in their yards. There would be plenty of time to catch up with them later. Looking past some of the houses, she could catch glimpses of the cornfields that lay beyond their backyards, here at the edge of the city, and her homesickness nearly choked her. How many times had she longed to gaze out on endless fields of green, after hours and days and weeks and months of nothing but Starfleet-gray bulkheads swimming before her eyes?

The sun was hot overhead; with the time zone change from San Francisco, it was around noon in Indiana, and it was enough to make her wish she wasn't wearing a uniform jacket, with a long-sleeved shirt underneath it to boot. Clearly, this new uniform hadn't been designed by someone who spent much time in the American South, Janeway thought distastefully as she felt a trickle of sweat run down between her shoulderblades.

A few doors from her mother's house, she quickly stooped and pulled her pant leg out from under the security anklet, tugging the black fabric down over the device so that it was hidden, other than a slight bulge just above her ankle. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her mother right off the bat; she had a feeling Gretchen would not be any happier than Chakotay was about this new turn of events. There would be time for explanations later.

And then, at last, it came into view: her childhood home, the only one she remembered living in. It looked much as she remembered: a light blue home, two-storied but not sprawling, with a long front porch that extended the whole length of the front. No, wait, there _was_ a change: the yew bushes planted in front of the porch had been torn out and replaced by azaleas. The hot pink blossoms were eye-catching in the bright sunshine.

Phoebe had mentioned to Kathryn privately yesterday that she had done her best over the years to convince their mother to come and live with her, a move of only a few blocks, where she would not be alone so much or burdened with caring for a property… but Gretchen had steadfastly refused.

"I think it was too hard for her to give up the home that held so many memories for her," Phoebe had said quietly. "Of dad, and of you. She wouldn't leave. I suppose it was a good thing after all; once little Kathryn was born, our house would have gotten too crowded. And once _you_ showed up, you would have had to sleep in a tent in the backyard!" She had smiled and given Kathryn a squeeze to show she was teasing.

Suddenly Kathryn realized the porch was occupied; her mother was sitting on the porch swing, and was now rising with a broad smile spread across her face as Kathryn turned down the front path. Above her head there was a long banner strung under the eaves, fluttering in the breeze, which read: "Welcome home, Kathryn."

Gretchen met her at the bottom of the steps. "Sweetheart," she said, putting her arms out, and Kathryn eagerly embraced her.

"Hi Mom," she said. "I hope you haven't been waiting out here too long. It took me longer than I thought to get out of San Francisco this morning."

"I had my knitting to keep me company," Gretchen said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Oh, and the mayor of Bloomington said to tell you that she wants to hold some kind of a welcome-home ceremony for you. She wanted to do it today, but I managed to convince her to hold off for a little while. I thought you might not want a fuss on your first day home."

"Thanks, mom," Kathryn said gratefully.

"Phoebe and the boys are all at school right now, but they'll come over in the afternoon," Gretchen added. "What would you like to do now? You can do anything you like, anything at all."

"I want to see everything," Kathryn said eagerly, despite her weariness. "I want to see the house and the garden and the Warners' field."

They did exactly that, going through every room in the house, as Gretchen explained every little detail of furniture and decoration that had been changed over the years. Then they went out into the backyard, where Kathryn exclaimed over the size of her mother's rose bushes and the tomato plants, not bearing fruit yet but nevertheless thriving in the heat.

But it wasn't long before Kathryn found herself wandering over to the edge of the backyard, where it abutted the Warners' sunflower field. The plants were waist-high now, but in a few months' time, they would be more than twice that. Then the wide blossoms would develop, and there would be nothing to see but cheery yellow heads nodding in the breeze for miles upon miles.

And Kathryn would be home to see it.

Moving slowly, as if in a dream, she started walking between two rows of sunflowers. She spread her hands out slowly as she walked, and the tops of the stalks brushed against her palms, the leaves cool and green, bending to her touch and then springing up again as she passed. The earth was soft underfoot, and the sun warmed her shoulders. She paused a moment, and looked back. Her mother was still standing at the edge of the backyard, a gentle smile on her face, as if you say: I know how much you missed this.

Suddenly, two tears slid effortlessly down Kathryn's cheeks, and she didn't bother to fight it: the first time in eight years that she had permitted herself to cry unabashed in someone else's presence. She just stood there, the wind riffling through her hair and the green stalks nudging against her legs, while the tears streamed down her face, until her mother came to stand next to her and wrapped her arms around Kathryn's waist.

"I'm home," Kathryn managed to choke out. "I'm home. Oh mom... I'm so glad you didn't give the house up. How did you know?"

"I didn't," Gretchen whispered tearfully, and squeezed her so tight it almost hurt. "I just couldn't give it up, either."

They stayed that way for several minutes, letting the gratitude and joy wash over them, until finally Kathryn reluctantly pulled away and said they'd better go inside.

"If the Warners look out of their house right now, they'll see two old women weeping in their field and think that we've gone crazy," Kathryn said, wiping her cheeks.

Gretchen laughed shortly. "You're hardly an old woman yet, dear."

Kathryn linked her arm through her mother's. "No, but I am decidedly middle-aged, and I didn't have a proper breakfast, and you're probably ready for lunch. Let's go in and see if we can coax the replicator into making something good. Assuming I can remember how to operate these civilian models."

"Actually, I have something much better in mind," Gretchen said.

They went inside to make lunch together - or rather, Kathryn sat at the kitchen counter watching while her mother whipped up cream of tomato soup and Welsh rarebit from scratch. Kathryn kept trying to offer to help, but her mother insisted that she sit and relax and be served.

"Heaven knows you've earned a break," Gretchen said. "I know this is more of a winter dish," she added almost apologetically as Kathryn bit into the melted cheese spread on toast, "and I know I don't make this quite as well as my dad could-"

"This is _wonderful_ , Mom," Kathryn interrupted, closing her eyes in bliss as she savored the taste. "My very favorite, as you know, and I've missed it. I actually had dreams about Welsh rarebit back on Voyager, if you can believe it."

"I _can_ believe it. I still remember the day you ate up the whole plate of it while I was outside calling Phoebe in to dinner."

After lunch Kathryn went to lay down in her room for some badly needed rest after her interrupted night, and was violently awoken several hours later by a thunderous noise - which she later discovered was created by her two teenage nephews bursting through the front door and racing each other up the stairs - followed by the sound of a crying baby and Phoebe's voice booming out from downstairs, yelling at the boys to "be quiet, for heaven's sake, because you just woke up your sister and probably your aunt as well!"

By that time, all thought of sleep had fled, and Kathryn went downstairs and spent the afternoon getting reacquainted with Luke and Connor, who were both twice as tall as she remembered them. At dinnertime, Phoebe's husband Josh joined them and they had a family dinner together. Everything was so normal and happy that Kathryn was tempted to pinch herself to see if it was really real. They were all sitting around the table, enjoying Phoebe's peach pie topped with vanilla ice cream, when the door chime sounded.

"Computer, who is that?" Gretchen asked, and the bland male voice replied, "Lieutenant Charles Hollen and Ensign Patricia Wright."

"That's for me, Mom," Kathryn said, quickly standing up.

"I thought they were going to leave you alone for two weeks' vacation," Gretchen objected, following her out of the dining room. "You haven't even been home a whole day!"

"If this is what I think it is…" Kathryn said, and she pressed the button to open the front door.

Sure enough, it was Lieutenant Hollen, Admiral Nelson's security officer, with a junior partner at his side.

"Captain Janeway," Hollen said, nodding to her politely. "Sir, I'm here to remove your security anklet. Admiral Nelson's orders."

"I believe I made myself clear this morning, Lieutenant," Kathryn said firmly. "I'll be the last one on my crew to have it removed."

"Security anklet?" Gretchen said sharply from behind her. "What security anklet?"

Kathryn turned back for a moment. "Mom, I was going to explain-"

"That's why I'm here," Hollen said. "I've just gotten the last of the reports from my team. Everyone on your crew _has_ had their anklets removed. You'rethe last one, sir."

"All of them?" Kathryn demanded. "Those from the Val Jean? The Equinox?"

"All of them, all 160 crewmembers," Hollen confirmed.

"You're certain? What about Commander Chakotay?"

"I removed his myself."

" _What security anklet_?" Gretchen said icily.

Kathryn hid her surprise. She had hoped this matter would be resolved sooner rather than later, but hadn't dared to hope it would happen quite this soon. She focused on Hollen. "Admiral Nelson had a change of heart?"

Hollen exhaled slowly. "Just between you and me?" he said quietly, leaning forward. "I think he had it changed _for_ him. There's been a crowd of people outside his office all day: Captains Retief and Nirak, and Grax and Hobson, and quite a few of their crewmembers as well. They demanded that they be fitted with security anklets, since they worked with you to liberate Starbase 3 and felt they deserved the same fate as you."

Was that amusement that had flashed in Hollen's eyes? Surely not. Security officers tended to be notoriously lacking in humor.

"He didn't order them to disperse?" Kathryn said in some amazement.

"He did, but they just moved to Admiral Romano's office," Hollen said. There was no doubt about it now; Hollen was definitely amused. "More and more people kept showing up until finally, Romano went to Nelson's office along with three other admirals and they all had a private meeting, and when they came out, I was ordered to have my team track down everyone on your crew and remove their anklets. We started with the crewmen and the ensigns, and then worked our way up the ranks. I thought that was how you would want it done. Are you ready?" He held up a modified hyperspanner.

This time, Kathryn was all too ready to comply, and she led Hollen and his partner through the foyer and into the living room. She sat down on the sofa and propped her foot on the coffee table, while Hollen knelt and used the hyperspanner to disconnect the links on the anklet. An unsmiling Gretchen stood in the doorway, watching.

"Oh, and uh, I was asked to tell you that it would be best not to mention this little incident when you speak to the press," Hollen added, standing up with the anklet dangling from his fingers. "I understand you have an interview tomorrow morning?"

"As long as this really is the end of the matter, I see no reason to mention it," Kathryn said.

Hollen nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you, sir. Starfleet could really use some good publicity right now. I'm sure you understand."

"Lieutenant," Kathryn said, "despite Starfleet protocol, I don't like being called 'sir.' My crew calls me 'Captain,' or 'ma'am.'"

The security officer paused for a moment, and then said with a small smile, "Ma'am. If there's nothing else, we'll get out of your hair now. I hope you have a good night."

"We were just eating peach pie," Kathryn said, struck by a sudden impulse as Hollen and his partner turned to go. "Would you two like to have some?"

"Oh," Hollen said, surprised and pleased. "No, thank you, ma'am. It's kind of you, but it's been a long day for us. We'd better head home."

When they were gone, Gretchen put her hands on her hips and faced Kathryn down silently. Kathryn grimaced a little.

"I was going to tell you," she said before Gretchen could say a word. "I just didn't want to spoil the nice day we were having."

"Oh, Kathryn," Gretchen sighed. "Some things never change, do they? Come and finish your pie, and tell us why on Earth Starfleet thought it would be a good idea to put a security anklet on _you_ of all people."

Kathryn followed her mother back into the dining room, and permitted herself to briefly savor today's victory, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to become complacent.

A battle had been won, but the war was far from over.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Feedback is always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Thanks to Wileret, Six of Twelve, ParkerAlexis88, Julie-Anne121, Guest, Eryndil, scwusa, Trekdr, fanficauther1226, Sureal05, joaniefan, Doc Yewll and lynnki for your reviews! I appreciate you taking a moment out of your day to share feedback!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"Something in your room is beeping," Sekaya said, glancing up from her needlework where she sat in the shade of the weeping juniper behind her house.

Chakotay paused in the process of sanding the last of the new kitchen chairs smooth and, sure enough, he could hear a beeping coming from the open window of his bedroom.

It was undoubtedly the com, and Chakotay found that he was surprised at his own surprise to hear it; after so many years of daily tech use on Voyager, it had apparently taken only two weeks in his sister's traditionalist household for him to fall back into the lifestyle he had lived for most of his childhood. He hadn't even thought to put his badge on his shirt today.

For a moment, he was tempted to just ignore it. It was probably someone in Starfleet sending him information about the upcoming debriefings; he could listen to the message later.

But he knew that would be irresponsible, and he hadn't been on vacation quite long enough to overcome the sense of duty that had been ingrained in him after so many years of Starfleet service.

"I'll be right back," he said to Sekaya, setting down the sanding block and brushing the sawdust off his hands before hurrying into the house.

He knew he'd made the right choice when he glanced at the monitor on his desk and saw the source of the call, and quickly he slid into his chair and accepted it.

Kathryn Janeway's image appeared on the screen… although it took him a moment to recognize her. She wasn't in uniform, and she'd done something subtly different to her hair, although he wasn't sure what: it looked less business-like than it usually did, somehow. But more than that, it was the expression on her face that gave him pause. She looked more at peace than he could remember seeing in a long time, her eyes brighter and the lines of her face smoothed, so that the immediate impression was that she looked younger. Happier. He hadn't seen her looking that way since… well, since New Earth.

"Hi," was all she said, and then she smiled like the sun, so that he could not help but smile back.

"Hi yourself," he said.

"Long time no see," she said. "I waited two whole weeks to call, just like you said. How are you?"

He thought about it for a long moment. "I could be better," he admitted at last, "but it has been good to be home."

She nodded seriously. "I've been worried about you."

He shrugged ever so slightly. "What about you?" he asked. "Having a good vacation?"

"Oh, it's been nice," she said.

He waited, but she said nothing else.

"Kathryn," he said.

"Hmmm?"

"If you're having the best vacation of your life, I would really like to hear about it. It would be good to know that at least one of us is having the homecoming they imagined."

She looked slightly guilty, and then shrugged a shoulder. "All right then. I _am_ having the best vacation of my life."

"I'm glad to hear it. What have you been doing?"

"Almost nothing," she said with relish. "I sleep in until an obscene hour. I wander around my neighbors' fields whenever I feel like it. I lounge around reading books. I've been catching up with my mom, and going down the street to see my sister and her family every day. And every night I take a hot bath and stay in it until my toes get wrinkled."

Chakotay smiled. "You're right. It does sound like the perfect vacation."

"Unfortunately, there is one fly in my ointment."

"What's that?"

"I've been going through Chakotay withdrawal."

"Sounds serious."

"It is. I hardly know what to do with myself. This is something we need to correct immediately."

"How can I help?"

"Do you have plans tomorrow?"

Chakotay shrugged. "Nothing very definitive. We've mostly been playing it by ear."

"In that case, how would you like to come over?"

"I think I could arrange that. What time?"

She rested her chin on her hand. "Come first thing in the morning. Stay until it's much too late and my mother has to kick you out of the house."

"That sounds ominous. Should I be afraid of your mother?"

Kathryn shook her head and chuckled dryly. "Not at all. Remember, she isn't a Janeway, at least not by blood. I don't think she's capable of intimidation."

* * *

It was mid-morning and the humidity in Indiana was rising rapidly by the time Kathryn heard the door chime and opened the door to find Chakotay standing on the front step.

"Is this what you call first thing in the morning?" she teased, hand on hip.

"It is when I'm on vacation," he said.

She reached out and gave him a quick hug. "And here I got up early for a change."

Suddenly she went still in his arms, and then pulled away and looked at him with an eager little gleam in her eye.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked.

"I don't know, Kathryn," he said. "What do you think it is?" She looked like a cat that had just scented catnip.

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but you smell like coffee beans."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Well done. You caught me." He pulled a little sack out of his pocket. "I'll have you know this is very special. Grown and roasted in Huatabampo, just a few miles from my sister's house."

"I don't know what I've done to deserve this," Kathryn protested half-heartedly, but she took the sack anyway.

"I missed your birthday last week," Chakotay reminded her, and then he pulled a little box out of his other pocket. "And this one is for your mother."

"You didn't miss my mother's birthday," Kathryn pointed out with a smile curving her lips.

"I know. I need to butter her up somehow. I thought chocolate might do the trick. What do you think?"

"I think you made a very good guess," she said, standing aside to let him in.

They were in a short foyer, with family pictures arranged on the walls to either side. Chakotay looked at one that caught his eye. "Is this you and your dad?"

"Mmm-hmm. Taken on my first day at the Academy."

"It's strange to see you in a science uniform. Your dad looks proud enough to pop, though."

"He would have been even prouder if I had been in command red. He kept telling me I was making a mistake, but I had my own ideas and I was stubborn. I didn't think bossing people around would be as much fun as studying stellar phenomenon." She thought a moment. "Actually, I still think I was right about that."

"You and your love affairs with nebulas."

"Guilty as charged." She pulled on his sleeve. "Come on. Come and meet my mother properly. She's in the kitchen, making bread." She lowered her voice. "I hope you brought an appetite, because my mother will _not_ stop cooking. I haven't tasted replicated food since I set foot on Earth."

"Is this her way of saying she missed you?"

"Must be."

She led him through the living room and into a brightly lit kitchen. Gretchen was there, uncovering four big bowls full of puffy bread dough. Her pure-white hair was very thick and neat, curled under so that it just touched her shoulders, and she was wearing an apron over her clothes. She glanced up as they came in.

Kathryn perched on a stool across from Gretchen. "Mom, you remember Chakotay, hopefully, from all the chaos at our homecoming?"

"Of course," Gretchen said, smiling at Chakotay. She very nearly had Kathryn's smile. In fact, Kathryn definitely took after her mother more than her father. Chakotay was reminded of the saying that if you wanted to know what someone would look like in old age, look to their parents. He thought Gretchen looked nice, with a sort of understated elegance, although she must be in her seventies by now and wrinkles were prominent around her eyes and her jowls were beginning to sag. But what he noticed most of all was that her blue eyes were still very bright and lively. "Welcome to our home," she said.

"Thank you for the invitation. This is for you," Chakotay said, holding out the slim box.

"Oh!" Gretchen wiped her hands on her apron and took the box. "Mexican chocolate? How nice! I prefer this to the Swiss kind. It has more of a snap to it. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"How have you been enjoying your vacation?" Gretchen asked Chakotay.

"It's been nice," Chakotay said. "Very... quiet."

"And how are you coping with becoming a land-lubber again?" Gretchen asked, eyes twinkling.

"Badly," Chakotay admitted. "I keep waking up in the middle of the night, missing the thrum of the warp engines."

She smiled sympathetically. "Ed used to say the same thing when he came back from a long mission." She punched down a bowl of dough. "He never knew what to do with himself, the first few days of leave. He would wander around the house aimlessly and drive us all batty."

Kathryn was looking at all the bowls skeptically. "Mom, I think you made too much. We'll never be able to eat all of that before it goes bad."

"Nonsense. I'm taking some over to Betty this afternoon, for one thing. And whatever we don't eat, we can take to Phoebe. The boys are bottomless pits."

Kathryn pulled a bowl closer to herself and punched the dough down. "Do I know Betty?"

Gretchen shook her head. "I don't think so. She and her husband moved to Bloomington a few years back, into one of those little houses in the Elmwood neighborhood across town. The two of them were getting on in years and wanted to have an excuse to not have to host the big family get-togethers anymore." Gretchen smiled mischievously. "Anyway, her husband died a few months ago, so I try to go see her as much as I can."

"That's Mom's specialty," Kathryn explained to Chakotay. "She's a family assistant."

"I guess I don't know what that is," Chakotay said.

"It means people call me when there's a loss in the family, and I go and help with whatever they need," Gretchen said.

"Like a grief counselor?"

"Not really. It's more practical things, like helping them figure out what needs to be done for the funeral and so forth, and making calls for them. Or I'll prepare meals and run errands for them, so they don't have to worry about those everyday things. Take the kids out of the house, or read to them and put them to bed while the adults are having a family meeting. That kind of thing."

"Mom goes above and beyond," Kathryn said. "She stays in touch with them for months or even years afterwards. I think she knows just about every family in Bloomington by now, isn't that right, Mom?"

"Feels like it sometimes," Gretchen smiled. She covered a bowl of dough to let it rise again. "So, what have you been doing with your first few weeks home, Chakotay?"

"A lot of fishing," he said. "That's what my brother-in-law does. Every morning we go out on the ocean in his boat and catch what we can. In the afternoons I go back to the house and keep my sister company. I've been making some new chairs for her. Her kitchen set was getting rickety."

"You build furniture?" Gretchen looked impressed.

"He's amazing, Mom," Kathryn said. "He built me a bathtub once. Didn't use a single power tool. And it didn't leak a drop of water."

Just then they heard a soft whining sound coming from the direction of the dining room.

"Oh!" Kathryn said quickly. "I almost forgot. There's something else you need to see." She pulled Chakotay into the dining room and opened the French doors. A little puppy came bounding into the room and scrabbled about on the floor, batting at Kathryn's shoes and then Chakotay's in an ecstasy of excitement before skittering off to launch itself at the curtains dangling temptingly just out of its reach.

"This is the newest member of the Janeway family," Kathryn said, picking the puppy up and trying to hold it firmly enough to prevent it from leaping out of her arms. "Isn't she sweet?"

"She's beautiful," Chakotay said, giving her a pat and getting his fingers licked in return. "What's her name?"

"Qadira."

"Qadira? That's unusual. What does it mean?"

"Powerful."

He looked at the chubby wriggling body and wagging tail. "Doesn't seem very fitting."

She gave him a mock glare. "Are you criticizing my dog's name?"

"She's your dog? I figured she was your mother's. You already got yourself a dog?"

"I hadn't really intended to," she said, "but a friend gave her to me."

"Who?"

She didn't answer for so long that he thought she hadn't heard him. Finally she sighed. "Now, don't be upset."

"Mark?" he said.

She gave him an odd look. "No. I haven't even seen him yet. It was Q."

"Q?" He instantly went to red alert. "Q the elder? He came here? To your _house_?"

"I just said don't get upset!" she hissed.

"Kathryn, did you report this to Starfleet Command?"

"Of course not! He didn't do any harm. He just came to give me a puppy."

He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. "Kathryn..."

"He was here for all of three minutes. He didn't want Q to miss him and throw another fit. He just gave me the puppy and said he was glad I made it home and then he left. That's all."

"With Q, that's never all. What did he want?"

"If he wanted anything, he didn't say. Honestly, Chakotay, relax. Even Q can have his moments, you know."

"What if there's something wrong with the dog? Did you try scanning it?"

She glared at him for real this time. "There is nothing wrong with my dog! Look at her! She's just an ordinary, beautiful little golden retriever." She cuddled Qadira under her chin. "He didn't mean it," she murmured to the dog. "He just doesn't like people whose names start with Q. Chakotay, don't even think of filing a report about this."

"Fine, but if it does anything odd..."

"The only thing odd about _her_ ," she said, "is that she doesn't ever have an accident in the house. If that's Q magic, I'm not going to complain about it."

He watched her in silence as she cuddled with the puppy and scratched behind its silky ears. Finally, he said: "You really haven't seen Mark yet?"

She shook her head, not looking up from the dog. "Not for lack of trying. I guess he's... still trying to get used to all this."

She pressed on with the conversation before he could find the right words to ask her what exactly "all this" meant.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "I've been really worried about you."

He laced his fingers and looked down at his hands. "Depends on the day. Yesterday was a bad day. I just keep... I feel guilty. Like I... like I should have been there to die with them."

"Oh, Chakotay..."

"Some days I've been angry. Not just at the ones who killed them. I think I'm even angrier at the ones who stood by and did nothing to stop it." He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Other days, I've just been terribly, terribly sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not today," he said firmly. "I have been talking and talking and talking about it with my sister, and honestly, right now I'm sick of talking about it. Today I just want distraction."

"Distraction," she repeated. "Your wish is my command."

She took him on a tour of the house, with Qadira following them around and romping about underfoot. They climbed the stairs and she showed him her bedroom.

"It looked a lot different when I was a girl, of course," she said as he looked around at the simple but elegant furnishings and the Starfleet monitor set up at the desk. "It was a lot messier, for one thing." She shot him a smile, and then went to the window. "See this tree next to the house? Phoebe once dared me to see if I could jump out the window and grab that branch right there and hang on it. And guess what I did?"

"You did it."

"Well, I tried."

"What did you break?"

She grinned. "My arm. My mother was furious at us both and scolded us the whole way home from the medcenter, but my dad didn't say a word about it to either of us, he just went and signed us both up for gymnastics lessons."

"How old were you?"

"Seven."

She showed him Phoebe's old room. It had a big bed because it was sometimes used as a guest room, but currently there was also a crib set up and a box full of baby toys, for when Gretchen watched little Kathryn a few hours a day while Phoebe was teaching classes.

"Phoebe yelled at me for turning up alive," she told him with a twinkle in her eye, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "She says now it's going to be too confusing, having two Kathryns in the family."

He leaned against the wall, facing her. "It's her own fault. She's the one who named her baby that."

"I know. I couldn't believe she did that, actually. Named her baby after me. We've been fighting our whole lives. We're just too different."

He laughed a little. "You have been telling me that for years. I think you overstate the case considerably. I've only met her once and already I see a lot of you in her."

She looked at him in surprise and displeasure. "You must be joking. Phoebe's a loose cannon."

"And you aren't?"

"No, I most certainly am not! Not usually, anyway. I'd like to think I have a little more self-control than that."

"You've been in a military setting your entire adult life. What would you be like if you hadn't been forced to learn discipline? Phoebe is like the unfiltered version of you. Did she really cuss out a bunch of admirals when they closed the investigation into our disappearance, or was she exaggerating about that?"

"Oh, she really did it," Kathryn said grimly.

"Case in point."

She scooted over on the bed, and beckoned him to come sit by her. "Well, what about your sister?"

He settled himself on the edge of the bed next to her. "What about her?"

"I didn't get a chance to say much more than hello to her at the homecoming. When do I get to meet her properly, and find out if you've been misrepresenting _her_ all this time?"

He looked down and thrummed his fingers on the quilt for a moment.

"I'm sure you'll meet her sometime," he said at last. "So, have you had a steady stream of old friends coming to see you all week?"

She shook her head. "I wanted some peace and quiet, so I decided to keep it to just family for these first few weeks. Except for the media interviews I had to do. And my counselor, of course. Joan. You'll have to meet her sometime, she's great. You should see the schedule Chrissy has drawn up for me, though. She's a master of multi-tasking. She has a whole list of instructions from Joan and the Doctor about how many hours I can work, and that I have to eat and sleep and exercise regularly, so she has a different friend scheduled to eat lunch with me every day, or to play velocity with me before meetings, and so forth. I'm just about booked up for several weeks already."

"Chrissy is your assistant?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Better not tell Naomi Wildman she's been replaced."

She smiled. "No one will ever be able to fill her small pink shoes. And what about you? Seen a lot of friends this week?"

"Not really. I doubt I will, either. I'm going to have to start completely over, socially."

She was taken aback. "Why? I know that your friends in the Maquis... but there must be plenty of people in San Francisco that you were posted with at some point, or went to the Academy with."

"Yes, and how many of them are eager to get reacquainted with a traitor to the Federation who is currently awaiting trial?"

A frown creased her forehead. "Maybe some of them would feel that way, but surely some of them-"

"I'm not holding my breath."

She didn't look satisfied at all with that statement, but all she said was, "You know you can come over here as often as you want, or to my apartment at headquarters. I'll probably stay there during the week, and come here for the weekends. You're very welcome at either place."

"Weren't you just saying you were all booked up?"

"I'll always have time for you."

"What do your evenings look like?"

"Busy, for at least a while," she admitted. "I oversaw the funerals for 36 people, and I intend to visit each of their families to offer condolences personally. I'm sure it will take me a few weeks to get to all of them."

"Do you want me to come along with you for that?"

She nodded. "I thought you would want to, at least for those from your old crew."

"I can come to all of them, if you want."

"I would be glad of your company for any of them. A few of them are for people you never even met, though... the ones who died on the crossing to the Delta Quadrant. I might bring Tuvok for those."

She patted his knee. "But I'm not going to count those as our social visits. I told Chrissie to leave my Tuesday evenings open, in case you wanted to keep our tradition going, and have dinner together."

"That sounds nice."

"And I think things should settle down after a few weeks or so. I hope so, anyway."

"Do you know how long the debriefings are going to last?"

"About two months, is what I'm hearing from the admirals. After that..."

He looked grim. "The trials."

She nodded. "And the court-martials, for the Equinox people. And for me."

"Did they say for certain...?"

"Yes. I'll be facing six of them."

" _Six_? What for?"

"Guess."

"For sharing weapons with the Coalition, and for the Borg alliance, I'm sure. And what else? Smuggling telepaths through Devore space?"

She nodded. "And for rescuing Icheb against his parents' wishes. And giving the Hirogen holotechnology."

"That's five, then, but I can't think what else..."

"For Omega."

He was surprised. "The Omega Directive? But you followed it, to the letter!"

"No, I didn't. I shared classified information that's supposed to be limited to captains and above."

"But the Omega Directive says very clearly that all other priorities are rescinded, in favor of the Omega Directive-"

"Yes, and the directive also says very clearly that secrecy is paramount. There's a legal contradiction there. Whoever wrote the regulation obviously never anticipated a day when a captain would be forced to break the secrecy clause in order to obey the clause mandating the destruction of the molecule. I'm told the legal scholars are fascinated by my case."

"But to bring charges against you..."

"They say it's the only way to resolve the legal conflict. Whatever they decide about me will set a new precedent. Don't look so angry. At least that court-martial won't be publicized."

Chakotay was not mollified. "You did everything you were supposed to do, at considerable risk to yourself and to the ship."

"Yes, and now it's out of my hands. Look at it this way. I'll finally pull even with Picard for court-martials racked up. And I did it in a lot fewer years, too."

Chakotay tried to smile. "Keep it up at this rate, Kathryn, and you'll give Kirk a run for his money."

Just then they heard Gretchen calling Kathryn from downstairs. When they went down they found her getting ready to go to the farmer's market, and she asked if the two of them wanted to come. After a little discussion, they decided to do just that.

They summoned a hovercar for Gretchen's sake, because the market was several miles away, and brought Qadira with a leash. As the car purred quietly along the country roads on autopilot, Kathryn and Gretchen pointed out the houses of people they knew. Mark's parents' house was among them - apparently they were traditionalists who had run their farm with a minimum of technology before they retired and turned the work over to others - although it turned out that Mark himself now lived near the University of Indiana, where he was teaching philosophy classes and working on another book.

That was news to Chakotay. Back in the Delta Quadrant Kathryn had told him Mark lived in South America, where he was a member of some philosophical think tank. Given that Mark now lived in the same city at Kathryn, it seemed even stranger that he had not yet come to see her. But Kathryn didn't say anything more about Mark after they passed his parents' house, and neither did Gretchen. Clearly Phoebe was the only one in the family with loose lips.

The outdoor market was charming, and filled with farmers from all around who gave out what they had grown and were happy to explain their techniques to any interested parties. Much of the produce there had been grown in hothouses, since it was still early in the growing season, but it was all of high quality. Anything that was left over at the end of the day and in danger of going bad would be recycled into the city's replicator system to be used as base material, but Gretchen said not much had to be reused in that way. Although Bloomington was a modern city, unlike Huatabampo, out here on the outskirts there was a definite traditionalist bent and lots of people ate home-cooked meals at least some of the time. And anyone who went to the trouble of cooking from scratch wanted fresh home-grown produce to start with.

"Neelix would love this," Chakotay said to Kathryn as they strolled down a row of stands looking for the vegetables Gretchen wanted for a stir-fry she had planned for lunch. Gretchen herself had gone to the other end of the market to look for fresh berries.

"Tell me about it. I intend to bring him here one of these days, and let my mom teach him a few things about cooking," Kathryn said. "In fact, I intend to invite all the senior staff to Indiana, one at a time, to spend a little time with me. I thought it would be nice to do something social with each of them, outside of work for a change."

"Who have you had over so far?" Chakotay asked.

She crinkled her nose at him. "You're the first, of course. I have Seven coming tomorrow."

"How's she doing?"

Kathryn thought a little. "It's hard to say. I've only had a few very brief conversations with her. She's been staying almost exclusively in Shanghai, at the medical center there, helping the Doctor - Dr. Zimmerman, I should say - with the recovering drones there. She has been to Prince Edward Island to see her Aunt Irene a few times. But she seems... I don't know. She's keeping very busy, and it's good that Dr. Zimmerman's there with her, but I'm not sure she's happy. I think she feels obligated to help all these people who are going through the same things she did, but I would imagine that's a pretty overwhelming job right now. You remember how hard those first few months were for us when she came onboard, and we only had one ex-drone to cope with."

"And it must be hard for her, just as she got used to life on Voyager, to have it all taken away again."

Kathryn nodded slowly. "Well, I would imagine that once the debriefings start and we all settle back down to work, she'll start getting social invitations from our crew, and maybe that will help. The transition has probably been brutal for her. I feel like I've been on an emotional roller coaster since we got back, but at least I've been surrounded by people and places I know. I can't imagine what it's been like for her."

"You'll pull her out of it."

"If she'll let me." Kathryn sighed.

"Excuse me?"

Kathryn looked down in surprise. A little girl was tugging on her sleeve.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Are you Captain Janeway?"

Kathryn shot Chakotay a glance that clearly said, _I'm caught_. "As a matter of fact, I am," she said to the girl.

"Hey mom!" The girl turned and waved excitedly to a woman a good distance away. "Mom! It is her! It's Captain Janeway!"

Her high-pitched voice carried clearly through the market. Lots of faces were turning their way. People were smiling and pointing.

The girl's mother came over quickly.

"Hi," she said to Kathryn with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry... Jessie, you shouldn't have bothered her," she added, taking the girl's hand firmly in hers.

"No, it's all right," Kathryn said, holding up a hand. "She isn't bothering me."

"Did you really meet Amelia Earhart?" the girl asked, looking up curiously.

Kathryn smiled in remembrance. "I did."

"Why didn't you bring her back with you? That would have been really fun!"

A small group of people were beginning to gather around them, listening to the exchange.

"Well..." Kathryn said. "If you've read about Amelia, then you know she loved a good adventure. I know it seems ordinary to you and me to travel to other planets, but no one from her time had ever done it before. She had a chance to join the first human colony in the Delta Quadrant and she thought that sounded like a grand adventure."

"But didn't she miss Earth?"

"She did," Kathryn said, "but I think she knew that if she came back here, it wouldn't be much like the Earth she remembered. And all her friends and family would have been long gone."

"I'm going to join Starfleet so I can get on a ship and go back to see her!" the girl declared. The people who had gathered around chuckled at this.

"She's been saying that for days," the girl's mother said, smiling tolerantly. "Ever since she saw it on the news. I tried to explain that Amelia's colony is very far away, even for a starship, but..." She shrugged.

"Dad says now that humans have gone to the Delta Quadrant, we'll send ships there again," the girls said stoutly. "He says it's a sure thing."

"I'm sure someone will, someday," Kathryn said. "But I think we'll have to invent something a little better than warp drive, first."

"I can do that!" the girl said brightly. Everyone laughed again. The girl frowned, looking around at them all, puzzled by their laughter.

"If you study very hard, and work very hard, you just might," Kathryn said seriously.

The knot of people stayed around them for a while, and Kathryn patiently answered questions, and shook hands, and allowed her picture to be taken with people. The little girl, eventually pushed apart from Kathryn by the press of bodies, looked up at Chakotay where he stood holding Qadira's leash, and her eyes widened.

"Mom!" she said, tugging on her mother's sleeve. "He was on Voyager too! Mom, can I have my picture with him, too?"

The woman looked at Chakotay, and her smile slowly faded.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said quietly to her daughter, but not so quietly that Chakotay couldn't hear.

"But he was on Voyager too!"

"Not everyone on Voyager was in Starfleet, honey," the woman said quickly. "It's Starfleet you like, remember? Come on, we need to get going home."

"But they were all wearing uniforms in the vids!" the girl was still objecting as her mother led her away.

People were still clustering around Kathryn, angling for a moment with her. No one else seemed to have heard the exchange. No one else seemed to have recognized him, or if they did, they didn't give him a second glance. Discomfited, Chakotay backed away from the crowd a little further, and bumped into someone behind him.

It was Gretchen, holding a basket full of fruits and vegetables.

"I got everything we needed," she said to Chakotay. "We'll give them a few more minutes, and then we'll rescue Kathryn. This has happened a couple of times already. People are always very polite, but it'll go on forever unless we pull her away."

He wondered if Gretchen had seen the woman dragging her daughter away from him, and if so what she thought of it. Kathryn had said Gretchen was friends with a lot of people around here. What would they think of Gretchen bringing him into her home? There were plenty of people in the Federation who considered the Maquis a terrorist group.

And he was painfully aware that the actions of at least some of the Maquis had done nothing to dispel this view.

After a few minutes Gretchen waded into the fray, gently informed Kathryn that it was time to go, and the three of them managed to extract themselves from the crowd and make it back to the car.

* * *

The three of them had lunch together, and after Gretchen baked the bread, she left it to cool while she visited several of the families who were under her care. Kathryn went into the living room and showed Chakotay photo albums of her family and her years at the Academy. It made him wish he had known her then. It was strange to think how close they must have come to each other at various times over the years but never managed to meet.

He turned a page in the album, and there was a photo of a dark-haired man helping a young Kathryn adjust her grip on a phaser rifle. He was lean yet muscular, with serious eyes that seemed too old for his face.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Justin," Kathryn said. "About a month before…" She paused. "I had admitted to him that I wasn't very comfortable shooting phaser rifles - they always felt too big in my hands - so he taught me some things to improve my aim."

"But you love your phaser rifle," Chakotay said.

"I do now," she said softly.

After they were done looking at photos, they spent some time listening to some of the music that had been released in the last eight years. There were bands they had never heard of and a new genre of music that had become popular in their absence. It was incredible how much they had missed in just eight years. Chakotay told her how jarring it had been for him to go into a clothing shop in Huatabampo and discover that everything he'd been wearing in his off-duty hours on Voyager was now considered outdated... while all the clothes now considered fashionable looked hideous to him. They had a good laugh about the vagaries of fashion. Pretty soon Chakotay felt his spirits lift again and he stopped stewing over the incident at the market. It was only one woman, after all. Probably no one else there had even recognized him. Kathryn had become the face of Voyager in the eyes of the public, and that was fitting and right.

They had been invited to Phoebe's house for dinner. She lived only a few blocks away, so when Gretchen returned from her trip the three of them walked there, carrying a fruit salad and several loaves of bread to contribute to the meal. Qadira trotted beside them on her leash.

Inside the house, it was chaos. There were no less than five teenage boys in the living room armed with laser guns, picking off a swarm of holographic ships buzzing around the room one by one. They were laughing boisterously and looked to be in constant danger of knocking over the furniture as they maneuvered around. Chakotay saw Kathryn hug the bowl of fruit salad against her chest and set her jaw as if she intended to charge through the fray to get to the kitchen safely. Gretchen was more sensibly hanging back in the doorway.

Just then Phoebe came bustling into the living room, her tight blond curls bouncing and baby Kathryn on her hip. She looked frazzled.

"Luke! Connor! Your friends have _got_ to go!" she called out to the boys, handing the baby off to Kathryn without so much as a by-your-leave and then taking the fruit salad from her. "Come on now! I told you that half an hour ago. And for heaven's sake, get that holo-emitter out of here! That's an outdoor game for a reason!"

Gretchen stepped aside to let three of the boys out, one of them pausing to look at Kathryn curiously as he left. Suddenly the room was much quieter. Gretchen and Phoebe were already disappearing into the kitchen, and the older of the two remaining boys busied himself tucking the holo-emitter into its box. The younger one - perhaps 15 years old, with all the awkward angles and corners that came with that age - came over and gave Kathryn a quick hug.

"Hi, Aunt Kathy," he said.

"Hi, Luke," she said, giving him a quick one-armed squeeze as she tried to keep a firm grip on the baby at the same time. "Boys, this is Chakotay, my First Officer. Chakotay, this is Luke and Connor."

"Hey," Connor said, glancing up from the holo-emitter for a second to nod at Chakotay. He looked almost grown up. There was actually a little scruff growing on his chin.

"And this is Kathryn," she added, giving the baby a little tickle on the cheek and eliciting a sudden, sweet smile.

"Is that red hair I detect?" Chakotay asked, running his hand over the baby's warm, fuzzy head. The baby focused on him curiously.

"We think so," Kathryn said.

"Because that's just what this family needs," a man said jovially, strolling into the room and dumping a pair of grass-stained sneakers into a basket in the corner. He was tall and lean, with brown hair nearly as curly as Phoebe's. "A feisty red-headed girl, so we can have even more sound and fury in this house."

"Phoebe's husband, Josh," Kathryn said. "My First Officer, Chakotay."

Josh shook Chakotay's hand. "Welcome to the zoo," he said. "Ah ah ah, boys, don't you dare try to sneak away! Clean this room up. Your mother's going to kill you if she sees it like this."

"She already saw it, and we're still alive," Connor objected, but Josh merely leveled a silent look at him, and Connor sighed and joined Luke in straightening the furniture.

"Has anyone offered you two a drink?" Josh asked, beckoning Kathryn and Chakotay toward the kitchen. "I'm about to get myself some water before I keel over." He did look hot and slightly out of breath. "I'd like to know whose idea it was to plant bridalwreath along the south fence. I have to trim those cursed things every other week, I swear." He grabbed a pitcher and filled it up with ice.

"It looks nice, though," Phoebe said from where she was chopping up bell peppers at the kitchen counter. "Reminds me of our wedding."

"That's the only reason I haven't uprooted them." Josh swooped over and planted a kiss on Phoebe's cheek.

"Ugh!" Phoebe exclaimed, pulling away from him. "Get off! You're all sweaty!"

"I thought you liked that about me."

"Yes, there's nothing I love better than sweaty, smelly men."

"About time you admitted it." Josh filled up the pitcher at the sink and then poured out glasses and passed them around to everyone.

They stayed in the kitchen for a while, making small talk, until Josh left to take a sonic shower and the rest of them went out into the backyard. Gretchen sat in a lounge chair and entertained the baby while Kathryn and Chakotay helped Phoebe spread a tablecloth over the picnic table, set out plates and glasses, and carry the salads out.

Kathryn went back inside to get the drinks. Phoebe surveyed the table and then blew out a sigh.

"Everything looks amazing, Mom," she said, "but it's so much work, making everything from scratch."

"Well, next time, put Kathryn in charge of the cooking," Gretchen said, handing the baby a toy she had just dropped.

" _Can_ she cook?" Chakotay asked, eyebrows raised.

Phoebe laughed. "Now there's a loaded question if there ever was one. Don't tell me she served you something burned and awful in the Delta Quadrant… did she?"

"She always blamed it on the replicator," Chakotay said, "but I couldn't help but notice over the years that Kathryn had an aversion to _real_ cooking, too. Whenever Neelix had a… less than successful attempt at cooking to Alpha Quadrant tastes, she would talk me into sneaking back into the Mess Hall with her after hours to make something decent to eat… but she would never touch the equipment herself. She made me do the cooking. I've always suspected there was some kind of story behind that."

"Oh, the things I could tell you about Kathryn's adventures in the kitchen-" Phoebe started.

"-but you won't," Kathryn interrupted, coming back from the house holding a pitcher full of lemonade, "because you value your life."

"No, no, I want to hear this," Chakotay said, looking intrigued.

"You really don't," Kathryn said, glaring at Phoebe meaningfully.

"We'd better be careful, Chakotay," Phoebe said laughingly. "Kathryn fights mean."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle her," Chakotay said to Phoebe, looking unconcerned. "What can she do? There aren't any security teams nearby for her to call."

"Yes, and without my crew, I'm helpless," Kathryn said with a heavy dose of sarcasm as she poured lemonade into a glass.

"Sounds about right," Chakotay said, and then grunted as a cold splash of lemonade unexpectedly hit him in the chest.

"Look at that," Kathryn said, nonchalantly setting the now-empty glass back down and filling it up again. "Crewless, but not defenseless."

Chakotay looked down at the wet spot on his shirt and fruitlessly tried to brush the drops away as Phoebe laughed at him.

"I warned you-" Phoebe started to say, but before she finished the sentence Chakotay had already picked up a full glass and tossed its contents right back at Kathryn.

The liquid arced through the air, glittering in the sun, until it struck Kathryn in the shoulder. She stepped back with a gasp, whether from surprise or from the cold liquid, it was hard to say. By some miracle she didn't drop the half-full pitcher of lemonade she still clutched in her right hand. There she stood, looking shocked, with lemonade dripping down several strands of hair.

Phoebe was staring at Chakotay with her mouth hanging open. "Wow," she said at last, and a look of excitement spread across her face. "After all these years… I finally have an ally!"

Kathryn glared at Phoebe before turning her wrathful gaze toward Chakotay. She started to lift up the pitcher of lemonade menacingly and Chakotay jumped back, but before Kathryn could do anything, Phoebe darted in from the side and snatched the pitcher away from her.

"Here," Phoebe said, thrusting the pitcher toward Chakotay, the liquid sloshing crazily inside. "Get her, get her, get her!"

"Oh, honestly, Phoebe!" Gretchen sighed from the lounge chair, wrapping her arms around the baby with a resigned expression, as if to protect her from any stray splashes. "Don't ruin your own picnic!"

"You wouldn't dare..." Kathryn began as she backed away from Chakotay rapidly.

"Dare what? What's the rush, Kathryn?" Chakotay asked coolly, nonchalantly picking up a glass and pouring lemonade into it. "I didn't hear the Red Alert." Kathryn, keeping a wary eye fixed on him, kept her distance.

Phoebe laughed delightedly. "Oh, I like you!" she said, throwing an arm around Chakotay's shoulders and squeezing him. "You are a _lot_ more fun than the last First Officer Kathryn brought home!"

Chakotay set down the pitcher and took a seat at the other end of the table, out of reach from it. Seeing this, Kathryn cautiously came back over to to the table. "Let's not speak ill of the dead," she said.

"I wasn't going to," Phoebe objected. "I'm sure Lieutenant Commander Cavit was a wonderful person. He just didn't get my humor."

"There aren't many who do," Kathryn said with the air of a martyr.

"You don't get my humor either," Phoebe said.

Kathryn resumed laying down napkins at each place setting. "I get it perfectly well. I just don't like it."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't start that again."

"I didn't start anything," Kathryn said. "You always start it, and sometimes I finish it, and then you get indignant, like you didn't expect me to fight back."

"It isn't my fault you're so sensitive!"

Gretchen caught Chakotay's eye and smiled sweetly over baby Kathryn's head. "Isn't it nice to see two sisters getting along so well?"

"We're a lot better than we used to be," Phoebe said.

"Back when we were forced to live in the same home, we used to fight like cats and dogs," Kathryn said.

Phoebe nodded. "I think Mom was just about ready to give up after our infamous hair-pulling incident."

"I think you mean _your_ hair-pulling incident," Kathryn said.

"I was not the only one who-"

"Yes, you were. I never pulled your hair, Phoebe."

"We both know that isn't true."

"Let's not start this again. Suffice it to say," Kathryn told Chakotay, "that was the summer when I spontaneously decided to sign up for a pre-'Fleet boot camp rather than stay home and endure that kind of abuse."

"I think you did it just to intimidate me," Phoebe said loftily.

"You're only saying that because I came home and used your boyfriend to demonstrate how to throw someone."

"And he was such a baby about it," Phoebe reminisced fondly.

"I really did you a favor, showing him for what he was."

"I have to agree with you there," Phoebe readily admitted.

Just then Luke and Connor walked up, wearing baseball caps and gloves. Connor was swinging a bat by his side.

"Mom, can you come pitch for us?" he asked Phoebe. "We're supposed to practice batting today."

Phoebe gestured meaningfully at the half-set table. "Why would you even ask me that? Look at me. What do you think I'm doing?"

Connor smirked. "I don't know. Nothing important."

Phoebe swatted a hand at his chest, but he jumped back and dodged it. "I'm setting up your dinner, is what I'm doing," she said. "You call that unimportant? Go ask your father."

"We did," Connor said. "He was busy starting up the grill."

"Well, what are you, helpless? Take turns pitching for each other." Phoebe made a shooing gesture.

"Luke is a lousy pitcher," Connor said. "And we need three anyway, one to pitch, one to hit, and one to fetch. Aunt Kathy, can you?"

"Sorry, boys. I'm a good shot with a phaser, but not so good with baseballs."

"I'll do it," Chakotay said unexpectedly.

Luke perked right up. "Okay, thanks!" He tossed an extra glove to Chakotay.

"Do you even know how to play baseball?" Kathryn asked him in some surprise.

Chakotay looked a little defensive as he put on the glove. "Of course I do. It's been a while, but I'm sure it will come back."

Phoebe was looking slightly dismayed. "Chakotay, I'm not sure you know what you just got yourself into. My boys play... a little rough sometimes."

"Mom, this is baseball, not football," Connor said. "We're not going to _tackle_ him." He and Luke jogged off, and Chakotay followed them. Qadira eagerly darted after them.

Phoebe adjusted the canopy over the table. "Your friend is doomed," she said to Kathryn. "Do you have any idea how many broken bones those boys have racked up between the two of them in the time you've been gone? Counting what they do to themselves and to others?"

Kathryn was unconcerned. "Phoebe, Chakotay boxes on the holodeck... for _fun_. I think he can handle a couple of teenage boys playing baseball."

Phoebe raised her eyebrows. "A boxer? That explains the biceps, then. I've been staring at them since he got here. Very impressive."

Kathryn quickly looked to make sure Chakotay was out of earshot, and then she glared at Phoebe. "Would you please, please behave yourself for once in your life?" she hissed. "Chakotay is my best friend and I don't need you scaring him off!"

"What? Why would admiring his biceps scare him off? Most men would be flattered. Haven't you ever told him he has nice biceps?"

"You can't say things like that to subordinates!"

"But you _thought_ it, right?"

Kathryn declined to answer. But Phoebe kept staring at her, with a twisted little smile on her face, and eventually Kathryn could feel the corner of her lips twitching despite her best efforts.

"That's what I thought," Phoebe said.

They finished setting the table. Little Kathryn had fallen asleep and Gretchen laid her down in her little carrier in the shade. Soon Josh brought over a plate full of grilled shish-kebobs, and Phoebe went over to yell at the boys to come eat dinner.

A minute later, Chakotay came limping over and gingerly sat in a chair, keeping one leg out stiff and straight. He rubbed a spot on his thigh and grimaced.

"That's going to leave a mark," he said.

Kathryn looked at him with concern. "What happened?"

"Took a line drive to the leg," Chakotay said.

"Ouch," Kathryn said.

"I told you so," Phoebe said, setting down the basket of bread. "Boys! Get over here quick, before someone else gets hurt! You better have said sorry!" Her voice, already so similar to Kathryn's, had such a perfect ring of command to it that Chakotay half-expected Luke and Connor to dash up, stand at attention, and give her a "yes, ma'am!"

Instead, the boys sauntered up to the table and casually threw their mitts on the grass before finding their seats.

"I did say sorry, Mom," Connor said, and he grabbed the biggest shish-kebob off the platter.

"I can get the dermal regenerator from the house." Gretchen started to get up.

"It isn't that bad," Chakotay said quickly. "But I wouldn't say no to an ice pack if you had one."

"We've got ice right here," Phoebe said, scooping a handful of cubes into a napkin. "I'm going to kill you boys. I swear this happens every time we have a visitor."

Soon Chakotay had his ice pack, the hubbub settled down and everyone passed the dishes around and fell to.

It was a good meal punctuated by good conversation, and after it was over, the boys were put to work putting the food away. Then they disappeared to do homework, and the adults moved over to the lawn chairs to kick back and relax as the sun sank down over the sunflower field to the west.

Little Kathryn woke up and fussed, and Josh took her out of her carrier and began to play a game of peek-a-boo that elicited gurgly giggles. Every now and again Gretchen looked up from her knitting and tickled the baby's tummy to get a giggle of her own. Chakotay found a ball for Qadira to fetch, throwing it from his chair and watching her scramble after it with her clumsy puppy legs churning before racing back to lay it triumphantly at his feet, tail wagging. Considering where she came from, she wasn't such a bad dog after all, he decided.

Phoebe got up from her chair and nudged Kathryn where she was relaxing on the chaise lounge. "Go get me a hairbrush," she ordered.

To Chakotay's surprise Kathryn got up obediently and went into the house, while Phoebe took her seat on the chaise lounge.

When Kathryn came back with the hairbrush, Phoebe leaned forward and put her feet down on the ground on either side of the chair. She patted the seat in front of her, and Kathryn sat down with her back to Phoebe and handed her the brush.

Phoebe started to brush Kathryn's hair in long, slow strokes. After a minute or so of this, Kathryn's eyes slid shut and her head tipped back. A faint smile touched the corners of her lips, and every once in a while she made a soft contented noise in the back of her throat. The setting sun, scattering warm rays as it sank toward the horizon, turned Kathryn's hair into rosy golden strands that seemed to glow with their own light. Chakotay could not tear his eyes away from the steady rhythm of the hairbrush sliding through that silken curtain.

A sudden rush of memory washed over him: a warm evening night much like this one back on New Earth, when Kathryn had finished her nightly thinking session in the bathtub he had built for her, and she sat on the tub's platform dressed in her bathrobe, slowly combing out her long hair to dry it in the rays of the setting sun before she went to bed. Chakotay had sat near her, ostensibly to whittle at a piece of wood before the light died, but really to watch her, and that night the urge to take the comb out of her hand and take over the enviable task himself had nearly overwhelmed him.

He had persuaded himself that she would be uncomfortable and rebuff him, and he had restrained himself from making the offer. That night. It had been only a week later that she dropped a hint about how sore her shoulders were, and it turned out that was all the encouragement he needed. Before he knew it he was touching Kathryn's skin, and smelling her hair, and all the barriers he had carefully constructed around his heart had crumbled, never to be rebuilt.

Qadira butted at Chakotay's hand with her hard little head and he looked down, irritated at the interruption, to see her dancing impatiently around the ball, begging for him to throw it again.

He picked it up and threw it so hard it nearly reached the edge of the field. Qadira bounded away, and suddenly everything seemed to move back into normal time, and Gretchen's knitting needles were clicking, and little Kathryn was starting to fuss, and Josh was asking Phoebe if she was ready to feed the baby.

"Just a second, honey," Phoebe cooed to the baby. She touched Kathryn's shoulder. "Should I put in some pin-curls real quick, so your hair can be wavy tomorrow? Or is there some kind of Starfleet protocol that says you're not allowed to primp in front of a subordinate?" She winked at Chakotay.

"I'm not her subordinate anymore," Chakotay pointed out. "Technically, I'm under the command of Admiral Nelson."

Phoebe's face lit up. "Oh, really? So if Kathryn wanted to say something about your biceps-"

Kathryn turned around to give Phoebe a vicious glance and quickly interrupted. "Besides, Chakotay and I have already seen each other at our worst," she said loudly.

"Oh, yes? When was that?"

Kathryn and Chakotay exchanged glances. "There were any number of Delta Quadrant incidents that could have qualified for that," Chakotay said.

"The entire year of hell, for me," Kathryn said promptly.

"How about that Malon freighter full of toxic waste I had to help clean out?" Chakotay said. "It didn't matter how many sonic showers I took, I could not get the smell off me."

"Don't forget the Srivani," Kathryn added.

"The Srivani! That one probably qualifies for both of us."

"Why, what happened with the Srivani?" Phoebe asked. She held out her arms, and Josh handed her little Kathryn and a blanket. She settled back and started to feed the baby.

"I have three words for you," Chakotay said. "Decrepit old man."

"They were scientists who cloaked themselves and then came aboard Voyager and started performing experiments on us unawares," Kathryn explained.

"It went on for weeks before we caught on," Chakotay said. "They stimulated my metabolism and made me age prematurely. I went all wrinkled and stooped and half blind. And all my hair fell out."

"Some men look good bald," Kathryn mused. "But not you."

"Thanks a lot."

"You've seen me bald, too. You didn't have to tell me I didn't look good."

"So you aged too?" Phoebe asked Kathryn.

"No, I went bald when I got quasi-assimilated by the Borg a couple of years back for an undercover operation. What the Srivani did was stick invisible needles into my skull. Actual needles. I had the worst headaches, and the Doctor couldn't figure out what was going on."

Gretchen suddenly gathered up her knitting materials, got up and went back into the house without a word.

"Whoops," Kathryn said. "We shouldn't talk about that stuff in front of mom. I forgot." She grimaced sheepishly. "Where was I?"

"They were giving you headaches," Phoebe prompted.

"Oh, yes. And that was only the beginning. They also spiked my dopamine levels. I didn't get any sleep for four days straight. I got... a little grouchy."

"A little grouchy?" Chakotay said. "It got to the point when you could see the Bridge crew shrinking down into their seats when they saw her coming. There was no telling what would set her off."

"When we finally figured out what was happening and uncloaked the lead scientist," Kathryn said, "I came _this_ close to strangling that woman right then and there. Hopefully now she thinks twice before trying to boost someone's aggression levels."

"You forgot to mention how you got them to detach their ships from Voyager," Chakotay prodded.

"I flew Voyager through a binary pulsar system," Kathryn said proudly. "Nearly crushed her like a tin can. I got Tuvok to call me reckless in front of the entire Bridge crew. It was a memorable moment."

"A binary pulsar?" Josh asked. "They're pretty bright, aren't they? Could we see that system here in our night sky, once it gets a little darker?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Kathryn said. "There's a lot of gas and dust around the center of the galaxy that blocks our view of most of the Delta Quadrant. Not to mention, a lot of the stars we visited are young enough that their light hasn't even reached here yet."

Josh started asking questions about how long it took light to cross the galaxy, and Kathryn launched into a layman's explanation. Chakotay thought maybe Gretchen would be interested in the conversation, now that Kathryn was done talking about unpleasant topics, so he left them chatting outside and went back into the house.

He found Gretchen sitting in the living room by a lamp, knitting away industriously. She looked up and smiled when she saw Chakotay.

"Commander, have a seat," she said. "You can keep me company. It's getting too dark to knit out there."

"What are you making?" he asked.

"A sweater. It's for Kathryn. Kathryn the younger, I mean."

Chakotay smiled. "I might have guessed that from the size."

"I just hope it's the right size by the time it's done and cooler weather is here," Gretchen said. "You never know, with babies. They grow so fast."

"So I hear."

"Do you have any nieces or nephews of your own?"

Chakotay nodded. "Just one living - a nephew."

"How old?"

"17 now."

"Oh, same as Connor. I bet you didn't even recognize him when you came back home."

"Actually, I haven't seen him yet. He went back to Dorvan 5 to help rebuild the colony."

Gretchen looked a little surprised. "At that age? Without his parents?"

"He wanted them to come too, but my sister refused. She has... some bad memories associated with that place."

"Because that's where your father was killed?"

Chakotay nodded. Kathryn must have told Gretchen the story. "And Sekaya's older son as well. Sekaya loved Dorvan 5, but after the Cardassians destroyed our village, she chose to leave with her husband and her younger son rather than try to re-settle there, like some of our people did. I'm afraid she... had the cynical idea that if the Federation wouldn't protect its colonies from invasion, at least her family would be safe on Earth."

Gretchen nodded slowly, looking sympathetic. "I don't blame your sister for wanting to stay put. It's very hard to leave a home. We used to move around a lot early in our marriage, following Ed's postings, before Kathryn was born and we settled in Indiana. It was a relief to finally stay in one place. It felt good to be free to make our house a home, and build a proper family to go in it."

"And now you have a beautiful home, and a beautiful family."

Gretchen smiled widely. "Thank you. I'm very fond of them all, although both Kathryn and Phoebe ended up with a healthy dose of the Janeway genes... and so did the boys, you may have noticed. They can be a little much sometimes. I hope they haven't all scared you off from ever coming here again."

"Actually, I think both of your daughters are charming. And your grandsons."

"Well, if you think you can handle them, you're welcome to come back anytime you like," Gretchen said, laughing lightly.

But Chakotay was already thinking that wasn't a good idea. Not if half the people in Bloomington - or any of Gretchen's friends - felt the same way about the Maquis as that woman at the market. It would be better if he limited his interactions with Kathryn to San Francisco. He didn't want to cause trouble for her whole family.

"Commander?" Gretchen said.

"Hmm?"

"You look a little skeptical. That was a sincere invitation."

"I'm sure it was," Chakotay said carefully. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to have someone like me around."

He expected Gretchen to tactfully drop the subject, based on what he knew of her, but to his surprise, she pursued it. "Because you're Maquis?"

"There are those who would call me a terrorist," Chakotay pointed out wearily.

"Why, because you killed Cardassians?" Gretchen lowered her knitting needles and lifted her chin in a manner that forcibly reminded Chakotay of Kathryn. "My daughter killed Cardassians, too. My husband was forced to make a career of it, unfortunately."

"It isn't exactly the same thing. I was wearing the wrong uniform. Mrs. Janeway, you've been very kind to me, but I realize that I'm just a stranger to you, and in a few months I'm going to be on public trial for a very serious crime. I'm sure your family doesn't need that kind of drama in their lives."

Gretchen settled back into her chair and picked up her needles again. "Don't underestimate this family's skill in dealing with drama. Now, I realize that I'm just a civilian who doesn't understand the subtleties of interstellar politics, and when you face trial, no doubt you'll be judged by someone much more qualified than I am. As for myself, Commander, it's true that I don't know you, but I'm afraid I'm already hopelessly biased about you. You see..."

The movement of her needles slowed.

"...when I found out Kathryn was still alive," she said, her voice suddenly strained with emotion, "I couldn't stop thinking about her running that ship all alone in such a dangerous place without any support of any kind, and it seemed to me almost worse than if she had just died in peace the day she went missing. I couldn't begin to imagine what she must have gone through, carrying such a burden of responsibility without superiors, or me, or Mark, or even a counselor to help her."

Two large tears rolled down her cheek. "I said that to Kathryn when they first let me talk to her, and do you know what she said? The first words out of her mouth were, 'Oh, no, Mom. I wasn't alone. Chakotay looked after me.'" Gretchen gave a shaky little sob, and mopped her eyes with the sweater she was knitting.

"So I'm afraid the nuances between terrorists and freedom fighters are lost on me at the moment," Gretchen finished with a sniff. "Kathryn's had a good day today. She's been more at ease with you here than she's been with us all week. As far as I'm concerned, you can come as often as you like, for as long as you can keep Kathryn smiling."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Phew, that was a long chapter to write! Feel free to let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

On Monday, Voyager's crew reported to Starfleet Headquarters for the first day of debriefings. Despite getting two whole weeks of vacation, Chakotay found himself quietly reluctant to return to work, although he was grateful that the powers that be had agreed to let him and the other Maquis continue to wear their uniforms with provisional rank pins for the duration of the debriefings.

When he entered the conference room nearly half an hour early, he found that some of the senior staff had already gathered and were laughing and talking together as if it were an Academy reunion. Neelix was sporting a crispy red sunburn, and Tom and Harry were exclaiming over it while B'Elanna sat at the conference table, chin in hand, looking out the window.

"I had a surfing lesson early this morning," Neelix was explaining as he gingerly touched the blisters forming on the side of his head. "There's a three-hour time difference, so I knew I'd have time before the meeting, but I guess I neglected the sunscreen. I didn't realize how brightly the sun shines in Maui even first thing in the morning."

"How did you do?" Harry asked.

"Not bad at all. My lessons on the holodeck back on Voyager helped, although nothing prepares you for the real thing. I took a wave to the face more than once," Neelix admitted.

"Hey, Chakotay," Tom said, noticing his arrival and turning to slap his shoulder. "Why don't _you_ have a sunburn? You're down in Mexico, right? Don't tell me you holed up in the house the whole time."

"I went sea-fishing a lot," he said. "But I rarely burn. And I went to Indiana on Saturday to see the captain. You look a little cooked yourself, Tom."

"Motorcycle riding," Tom said happily. "Almost every day. I couldn't go far, of course, because of the baby, but I got to feel the wind in my hair. The only problem was, I had to use one of these pathetic 24th century models. They're too quiet. If you want the full experience, you have to get an antique, the kind that actually goes _vroom vroom_ when you rev the engine."

"You mean the kind that used to spew all kinds of pollution into the air?" Harry said.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Do you know what we should call our modern times? We should call it The Century of No Fun. Lighten up, Harry. A little carbon monoxide from a single motorcycle would have no appreciable effect on the environment. You should come over sometime and take a spin with me. You can use dad's motorcycle."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "You want me to take Admiral Paris' motorcycle for a spin? I don't think so."

"Come on. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I don't know, Tom, maybe... a big ugly crash?" Harry said.

Tom shrugged. "He can only kill you once. Believe me, I know. Anyway, how was your vacation?"

"Busy," Harry said. "We had a constant stream of people coming in and out of our home. All my old Academy buddies, and high school friends, and all my parents' friends and relatives. I had a great time."

"Did your parents miss you as much as you missed them?" Neelix asked.

Harry nodded. "My mother kept crying at the drop of a hat, the whole two weeks. And apparently my dad did a series of copper sculptures while I was gone - he's an artist - that ended up in the Museum of Raleigh. He called it 'A Study in Grief' and some of the pieces have my face on them. It was kind of embarrassing, actually." He didn't look embarrassed, though, Chakotay thought, but rather a curious mix of pride and regret.

"He'll have to do a new series and call it 'A Study in Joy,'" Neelix said, wincing as his sunburned skin stretched with the movement of his jaw.

Chakotay noticed B'Elanna was sitting apart, not joining in the conversation. He went over and sat by her.

"How was your vacation?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It was all a bit of a blur, to be honest. I couldn't get more than three hours of sleep at a time, although Tom is helping as much as he can. I tried to sleep whenever Miral did, and the rest of the time I was trying to... I don't know, impress my in-laws or something."

"That can't have been hard," he said. "You are an impressive person."

B'Elanna laughed humorlessly. "Yes, I'm just what every parent wants their child to look for in a spouse. A criminal awaiting trial who has the looks and temperament of a Klingon. I'm sure it was a dream come true for them."

"They haven't given you a hard time, have they?" Chakotay asked, concerned.

"No," B'Elanna said, sounding almost defeated. "I'd be able to fight back, if they did. But they're killingly polite to me. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Are you sure it isn't sincere?" he asked tentatively.

"I don't know," B'Elanna said helplessly. "It feels like they're a little cool toward me. It isn't what they say, it's what they don't. It's just been awkward, the whole two weeks. I feel like I can't ever relax and just be myself. I wish we could get our own place already, but Tom feels that his mom needs to see as much of us as possible." She hesitated a little. "Julia does adore Miral. She's going to get spoiled, being held as much as she is."

Chakotay realized that for several minutes now he had been hearing some kind of distant commotion growing in the corridor outside. Just then, they heard Tuvok's voice, ringing out clear and authoritative: "Stand aside and let the captain through. She has work to do. No doubt all of you do as well."

The distant chattering subsided somewhat, and a few moments later Kathryn breezed through the door clutching a coffee mug, followed by Tuvok, Dr. Zimmerman and a petite brunette with lieutenant pips Chakotay didn't know.

"Oh good, everyone's here," Kathryn said. "I saw Admiral Hayes just down the hall, so we'll probably be starting soon. Everyone, this is Lieutenant Chrissie Talbot, my assistant." She quickly introduced each member of the senior staff as her assistant shook their hands.

"What was all that rumpus out there?" Neelix asked as Kathryn sat down at last and Chrissie pulled several PADDS out of a bag and handed them to her.

Kathryn gave an exasperated sigh, and waved her hand vaguely back and forth. "I don't even want to talk about it." She took a big gulp of coffee and shuddered. "Ugh, cold."

"The captain had the misfortune of walking past just as a group of cadets came into the corridor," Tuvok supplied. "They were... eager to meet her."

"No doubt they're all bragging to their friends at this moment that they got to shake the hand of the captain of Voyager," Dr. Zimmerman added.

"Fame is a fickle, fickle thing, Captain," Tom said sadly, patting her shoulder. "Enjoy it while you can."

"I'm _not_ enjoying it," Kathryn said. "I tried to get here an hour early, but it took me that long just to walk here from the transporter pad. It's a nuisance, but I hate to be rude to them. Thank goodness Tuvok came by to rescue me. How have you been, Tuvok? How's the family?"

"They are well," Tuvok said. "I have had ample time to evaluate my children, and I believe they worked hard and made great progress in their studies during my absence."

Kathryn smiled. "Good. I'll have to invite you all over for dinner one of these nights, and they can recite for me. And your little grandson can play with my new puppy."

"Mr. Neelix!" Dr. Zimmerman exclaimed suddenly, looking at the Talaxian's reddened skin in horror. "You've been neglecting your health!" He frowned and pulled a medical tricorder out of the pouch at his waist to give Neelix a quick scan. "This is a second-degree burn! Is there a medkit in here?"

One was found in short order, and Dr. Zimmerman perched on the edge of the table while Neelix sat down and patiently submitted to treatment.

"So what did you do for your vacation, Doc?" Harry asked while the hologram waved a dermal regenerator over Neelix's blisters.

"Vacation? I've been working night and day at the medcenter in Shanghai trying to piece those drones back together," Dr. Zimmerman said. "No sooner do I get one out of surgery, then another has an implant fail. I couldn't keep up with it, so I got permission to train a team of doctors to assist me, which introduced a whole other set of headaches. Some of them seem to think I'm a piece of equipment no different from this dermal regenerator." He waved the offending instrument contemptuously. "Fortunately, Seven's been there to set the record straight on that point. She's keeping an eye on things there right now, in fact, since she wasn't needed for today's debriefing."

"All work and no play, huh, Doc?" Chakotay said.

"Actually, I found the time to contact one Ardon Broht of Broht & Forrester to consider my holonovel, 'Photons Be Free,' for publication," Dr. Zimmerman said. "I expect to hear back from him this week." He tucked the dermal regenerator back into the medkit and arched his eyebrow at them all, adding casually, "And I had a date one night with a lovely Andorian lady. I took her to the Met in New York and saw 'La Traviata,' an excellent performance. I believe she enjoyed it enormously."

"Yeah, I'll bet she did," Tom muttered under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean, Mr. Paris?" Dr. Zimmerman demanded.

Tom opened his mouth to answer, but just then Admiral Hayes strode into the room along with several other officers.

"Everyone here?" he asked. "Good, let's get started."

For the first day, they were slated to go over the events that had led to being stranded in the Delta Quadrant. Admiral Hayes and the others had read the ship's logs and were prepared to ask for clarifications on several points, and then went on to discuss with everyone what went well during the crisis, what didn't, and then asked for suggestions for any changes in policy, procedure or training that might help Starfleet crews in a future crisis.

Debriefings were a valuable tool, Chakotay knew, but it was not exactly comfortable to be forced to remember that time and how distrustful they had all been toward each other at the beginning. Last night he had listened to his personal log from the incident to prepare, and he had been ashamed of the way he had spoken about Kathryn in less-than-flattering terms. He tried to comfort himself that it was before he really knew her. He wondered what she had said about him in her personal logs, and if she had kept a phaser on her nightstand that first night, knowing she had a Maquis captain sleeping right next door to her, fully capable of spurring several dozen people on board to attempt a mutiny. If he had been in her shoes, he would have been as jumpy as a Circassian cat.

They talked about the holographic waiting room on the Array, and the Ocampa, and the Kazon, and how they met Neelix. They talked about the strange disease Harry and B'Elanna had contracted, and the sporocystian lifeform known as the Caretaker.

B'Elanna disappeared during their periodic short breaks to feed Miral; Julia Paris was keeping her at one of Starfleet's nearby child care centers. The session went on after they broke for lunch, and they still hadn't discussed the destruction of the Array by the time 17:00 rolled around. Chakotay resigned himself for the meeting to run late. His energy had begun to flag an hour ago, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to Sekaya's home and take a dip in the sea before dinner, but it looked like it wasn't in the cards.

"Admiral Hayes?" Chrissie Talbot said.

Hayes stopped midsentence and looked at her. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"It's 17:00, sir."

Hayes looked at the chrono in some surprise. "Already? All right. Let's just finish this item up and we can all go home."

The discussion resumed, but another ten minutes went by and there was no indication Hayes was anywhere near wrapping up. Then Chrissie cleared her throat. "Admiral? It's 17:10."

Chakotay tried not to stare at her, and he wasn't the only one. She was awfully bold for a mere captain's assistant, wasn't she? He braced himself for Hayes to snap that they would be through when he said they were through, and not a moment before.

But to his considerable surprise, Hayes pursed his lips for a moment and then said, "Yes. Of course. All right, we'll have to finish it up tomorrow, 08:00. Dismissed."

The meeting began to break up.

"Hey, everyone," Tom said quickly before any of the senior staff could leave the room. "Who wants to go to Sandrine's tonight?"

"Are we even allowed to get back on Voyager yet?" Harry asked. "I thought they were getting it all prepped for showing."

"Not the holodeck!" Tom exclaimed. "The _real_ Sandrine's. In Marseilles. Come on, don't think about it. Let's go. All of us. Let's do it."

"I would love to meet the real Sandrine!" Neelix enthused.

"I could go for a game of pool," Harry said. There was a burble of agreement from everyone.

"Just for an hour or so," Kathryn said. "Tuvok and I are due to meet with the Cavit family later tonight."

"Captain Janeway," Hayes said, approaching her. "Could I have a word with you in private?"

"Yes, sir." She glanced back at the senior staff as she followed Hayes out the door. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"We'll wait outside so we can all beam over together," Tom told her.

Chakotay and the others all trooped outside. The sunshine and fresh air was a relief after the monotony of sitting in the same room all day. They walked down the stairs and loitered under a tree to wait for the captain, swapping jokes about how boring the debriefing had been. Tom called his mother and told her they were done and she could bring Miral back to them now, while Dr. Zimmerman called Seven in Shanghai and told her where to meet them.

B'Elanna, not participating in any of the conversations, stood back from everyone with her arms folded across her chest and stared vacantly up at the stairs they had just descended. After a few minutes, she suddenly said, "Do we know him? He looks familiar."

Everyone stopped talking and looked where she was looking. At the top of the stairs, a tall middle-aged man with gray hair was by the door, with an Irish setter at his feet. He stood out like a sore thumb, partly because he was dressed in civilian clothes with a visitor's tag clipped to his sports coat, but mostly because he was obviously agitated, pacing back and forth a little as he watched the stream of uniformed officers leave the building, and he kept fiddling with the dog's leash, wrapping it first around one hand and then unwinding it and wrapping it around the other hand.

He did look familiar. Chakotay stared at him blankly, trying to work it out, when suddenly it hit him.

"Where do I know him from?" B'Elanna murmured.

"You've never met him," Tom said suddenly. "But we've all seen him before. In the Ready Room. In the picture, remember? I swear it's even the same dog."

"Oh!" Neelix said, amber eyes widening. "Is that...?"

"Mark Johnson," Tuvok supplied.

"The fiance," Dr. Zimmerman said.

"Ex-fiance," Harry said.

"You sure about that?" Tom said.

Harry waved his hand meaningfully. "Come on. Eight years? Libby barely even remembered me."

"It's just, he isn't wearing a wedding ring," Tom said.

Chakotay hadn't noticed that, and with a jolt he saw that Tom was right. A slow ball of heat bloomed into life around the level of his gut. Unconsciously his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

"I wonder if they're still engaged," Dr. Zimmerman said thoughtfully. "Tuvok, do you know?"

"I do not," Tuvok said.

"Commander, didn't you see the captain over the weekend?" Neelix said. "What's the situation?"

Chakotay forced himself to look as puzzled as everyone else, and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know," he said.

The real question was, did _Kathryn_ know the situation? As of Saturday, she hadn't even seen Mark yet.

With a sick feeling, Chakotay remembered the conversation he had had with Kathryn the night before their joint battle with the Coalition. She had been so certain that Mark would have moved on by now... and Chakotay had never questioned her certainty. Until now.

"Poor guy looks like he's about to have a heart attack," B'Elanna said.

They all looked at Mark nervously pacing, trying not to look as though they were looking at him.

"Well," Tom said finally, "she obviously didn't know he was coming, or she wouldn't have made plans with us."

An awkward silence fell. No doubt everyone was wondering if there was about to be a scene that would end up embarrassing the captain, Chakotay thought. Or at least, that was what he was wondering.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Tom said suddenly.

Chakotay abruptly found his voice again. "No, Tom," he said sharply. "Don't interfere."

He made a grab for Tom's sleeve, but it was too late. Tom was already jogging up the stairs, heading straight for Mark.

* * *

"Captain?"

Deep in conversation with Admiral Hayes, Kathryn turned to see Tom standing nearby.

"Sorry to interrupt, Admiral," Tom said swiftly, "but could I borrow Captain Janeway from you for just one minute?"

"Yes, of course," Hayes said.

Tom pulled her aside.

"Sorry, Tom," she said in an undertone, "but I'm not sure how long this will take. You know how Hayes is."

"No, that's not why-" Tom exhaled noisily. "We weren't getting impatient for you. It's just... were you expecting anyone to meet you here after our meeting?"

She frowned up at him. "No. Why?"

"Because you have a friend waiting out there for you. Mark Johnson."

The name dropped on her like a ton of bricks. Mark? He had come here? For two weeks he could have seen her at any time in the privacy of her home, and he had chosen to come here, to San Francisco on her first day back at work, unannounced?

It was so unlike Mark that for a blank moment she could only think that Tom must be mistaken somehow.

"You... spoke to him?" she asked.

"Yes, I introduced myself, and asked if I could help him with anything, and he said he was waiting for you. I said I would come and let you know."

Tom must have recognized who Mark was: he was looking at her with visible sympathy. Kathryn realized she must have a shell-shocked expression on her face, and she tried to compose herself.

"I can take a message out to him for you," Tom continued. "I'll tell him anything you want."

He kept his tone light, but it was clear he was offering her an escape: if she sent a message that she was too busy to see Mark right now, Tom would play his part dutifully. She felt a rush of gratitude. With sensitivity like that, Tom was shaping up to be a killer senior officer.

Or maybe a killer friend. It was the sort of thing Tuvok or Chakotay would have done for her, not out of duty but from a sheer sense of protectiveness.

Chakotay. He was out there with Mark right now. Maybe they were already talking to each other. A flutter of panic manifested somewhere in her belly. She had always assumed they would meet one day, but she had wanted it to be a time and place of her own choosing. She had no idea how she could have prevented this from happening, but she did know that she hated this feeling of helplessness. Time to take control of the situation.

"No," she said out loud. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I finish with Admiral Hayes. In fact," a sudden inspiration hit her, "tell him to meet me where Voyager is parked." There. She had killed two birds with one stone. That would get Mark away from Chakotay for now, and Voyager would provide a good place for a reunion; the only place at Starfleet Headquarters, in fact, where she had a guarantee of being able to talk to Mark in total privacy without interruption.

Why couldn't he have come to see her in Indiana?

"If you're sure," Tom said.

"I doubt I'll be joining you at Sandrine's tonight," she added. "Go ahead and go without me, and give everyone my apologies."

"Okay," Tom said. He gave her a half-smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Captain." He patted her arm in a friendly sort of way.

"Thank you, Tom." And she meant it.

When Tom had gone, she wrapped up with Admiral Hayes as quickly as she could and then set off across the expansive green toward the looming shape of Voyager, the EB cannon superstructure still arching over the Bridge and its emitters glittering in the afternoon sun.

By now they must have finished deep cleaning and minor repairs, and she knew that flag officers and Federation officials were regularly coming aboard to catch a glimpse of the ship that had defeated the Borg. She had been told that eventually Voyager would be opened up for cadets to tour, and there were many engineers who were eager for a chance to look at the dismantled slipstream drive, and stellar cartographers who wanted a peek at Astrometrics. Voyager may be empty and lonely now, but soon she would be even more crowded than when she had housed her crew.

She spotted Mark as soon as she crossed into the massive shadow cast by Voyager's primary hull and found relief from the glare of the sun. He was standing near the embarking ramp, with a leashed dog sitting patiently at his feet.

"Hey, Kath," he said as she approached him.

She smiled a little sadly. "Hello, Mark."

She hadn't been sure what to expect, but Mark seemed calm enough: no rush of emotion, positive or negative, seemed to be forthcoming from him, and to her surprise she felt almost calm as well.

"It's good to see you again," Mark said, and he hugged her briefly. She was relieved that he didn't try to kiss her. She wouldn't know how to react if he did.

"It's good to see you," she said. She studied his face for a moment, taking in the familiar features, the quirk of his eyebrows, the smooth gray hair. "Look at you, Mark. You haven't changed a bit."

Mark smiled slightly. "Whereas you look twice as beautiful as before. I can't turn on the newsfeeds without seeing your face everywhere. You've become quite the celebrity."

"I know. It's embarrassing. I wish they would hurry up and forget about me."

"No one could forget you," Mark said, and suddenly there was an almost savage undertone to his voice that startled Kathryn and made her look up at him curiously.

Pressing his lips together tightly, Mark looked away and seemed to be struggling to regain his control.

"Did you meet... my crew?" she asked tentatively.

"I met somebody. I can't remember his name. He went to get you."

"Tom Paris?"

"Maybe. I think so. He said he was the pilot."

Kathryn felt considerable relief. If it was only Tom he met... well, it could have been much worse.

Searching for something else to say to break the silence, Kathryn's eyes fell on the Irish setter sitting there looking at her alertly, with its tongue hanging out.

"This isn't Mollie, is it?" she asked, startled.

"It is. Mollie, look, it's Kathryn, come back to see us. Say hello. Come on, girl. Say hello."

Obediently Mollie held up a paw and, laughing, Kathryn shook it. Then Mollie politely sniffed at her outstretched hand and permitted Kathryn to scratch her head. Her tail wagged gently back and forth behind her, but she didn't dance around and beg for attention as she used to do.

"She doesn't remember me," Kathryn said a little sadly.

"Oh, I think maybe she does," Mark said quickly. "No one could forget you." His face twitched again, and then he pressed on determinedly. "She just isn't as young as she used to be. She doesn't do much capering about anymore."

"Whatever happened to her puppies?" Kathryn asked. "The litter she was carrying when I left for Deep Space 9?"

"Oh, yes. She had seven. I gave six of them away, but I kept the last. I named him Max and I still have him. He isn't as well-behaved as Mollie, so I left him home today. But you can come and see him anytime you like."

He hesitated a moment. "Technically, Mollie is still your dog. If you want her back-"

"No, no," she interrupted quickly. "She's used to living with you now, I'm sure. I don't want to take her away from her home. And I just got a new puppy. They might not get along. No, you keep her. She's yours now."

Mark nodded. "Thank you. She's been good company for me. You've finally managed to convert me into a dog person." He chuckled lightly. The sound pierced her heart. She had almost forgotten what it was like to hear him laugh.

"So this is Voyager," Mark said, craning his neck to look up at the underside of the primary hull. "I never got to see her before you left. She's bigger than I pictured. All the newsfeeds keep calling her a 'scrappy little ship.'"

Kathryn smiled slightly. "Compared to a Galaxy-class starship, she _is_ little. But she has a big heart."

"Like her captain."

"Would you like to meet her? I'll take you in for a tour."

Mark glanced at her. "Are we allowed to bring a dog on board?"

"You can if the captain says you can."

"In that case, lead the way."

She took him up the ramp, and the two guards at the entrance stood at attention when they recognized her. A handprint and a retinal scan got them in, and then they were inside the cool recycled air and walking the corridors.

She took him to all the main attractions: the shuttlebay - where he was suitably impressed by the sleekness of the Delta Flyer - Engineering, Astrometrics, Cargo Bay 2 - he was curious but slightly unnerved by the Borg technology there - Sickbay, the Mess Hall, and finally the Bridge. There was a young lieutenant on duty there, but he readily agreed to step outside and let them have the Bridge to themselves. Kathryn took great pleasure in pointing out each station to Mark and explaining who typically manned each one.

"... and this is where Chakotay sits," she said, gesturing the seat beside hers.

"The Maquis captain?"

"He isn't Maquis anymore," she said, and a note of defensiveness crept into her tone.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Mark said calmly. "You know how I feel about the Maquis. Still, it must have been difficult, trying to blend the two crews. Did you find it awkward to work with him?"

"Yes and no," she said slowly. "He was very... self-assured, and not shy about sharing his opinion. As any good First Officer should be. We had a few really good debates over the years, some real doozies. You would have liked to see them. But he was never difficult on a personal basis. By the end, we became good friends."

"Yes, I heard you say that in an interview," Mark said, running a hand along the top of the helm. "I wasn't sure if you were just playing politics, though, or what. You had that closed look on your face when you said it."

"I don't know how to play politics. You know that." Suddenly Kathryn paused. "Oh, Mark, did I really look closed off? You don't think the interviewer..."

"She didn't notice a thing," Mark said. "She barely even listened to half your answers; she was too busy thinking up her next question. So... do I get to see you manning your station?"

Obligingly, she settled down into the captain's seat. Mark looked at her, a little admiringly, and a little sadly, she thought. He leaned back against the helm console.

"Shouldn't you be giving me an order, or something?" he said.

"Full speed ahead. Fire cannons. Raise the topsail and batten the hatches," she said without blinking an eye.

"Aye aye, Captain," Mark said, grinning. "But I'm probably not qualified to do anything but swab the deck."

"I don't know," she said. "With your persuasion skills, I think you would have made a passable ambassador."

She wasn't sure Mark had really heard her compliment; he was looking at her now with an odd look on his face.

"It's funny," he said.

"What is?"

"This has been such a big part of your life," he said, glancing around the Bridge. "And I've never been able to see you in action. Never once seen you at Red Alert, outwitting the bad guys. It's a shame they don't let you bring civilians along for the ride."

"It wouldn't have been a picnic," Kathryn said. "We had so many Red Alerts in the Delta Quadrant, I started to feel like there was something wrong if the lights _weren't_ flashing."

"Still," Mark said quietly, "I wish I could have been there."

Mollie whined slightly and paced back and forth in front of the helm restlessly.

"Maybe we should take her back outside," Mark said, straightening up.

"Or, we could go to the holodeck," Kathryn said quickly. So far they had kept the conversation on light, easy topics, but sooner or later they were going to have to start talking about the hard things. She did not want to do that outside, in anyone's view. "I could probably find a program where she could run around a bit."

Mark agreed, and she led him down to Holodeck 1.

She scanned down the list of programs, trying to find a good one for the occasion. Not Captain Proton. Definitely not Flotter. She suspected Maestro da Vinci would be horrified if a dog came into his studio. Same thing went for Sandrine's.

"Fair Haven," Mark read out loud over her shoulder. "What's that?"

"It's a 19th century Irish village," she replied. "Near the shore. Very picturesque."

"Sounds nice. And appropriate for an Irish setter named Mollie," Mark said.

"Yes, I suppose it is." She couldn't think of an objection she could articulate, and so despite feeling uneasy about the choice, Kathryn spoke aloud.

"Computer, activate holodeck program Paris 042," she said, "but delete all characters."

"The townspeople are very friendly," she added, in response to Mark's questioning look, "and I don't think we want to be interrupted."

Even as they entered the simulation, Kathryn wondered why she didn't just tell Mark about Michael Sullivan. She didn't really think Mark would mind if she told him she had carried on a bit with Fair Haven's holographic pub owner; in fact, she suspected that if she told him, he would probably tease her about it, as Chakotay had. Mark had always been unthreatened, even amused, by her earlier penchant for gothic romance programs and brooding British lords.

It was a sunny, beautiful day in Fair Haven. Mark admired the village for a few minutes, but they quickly turned off onto one of the country lanes and let Mollie off the leash to explore the bushes and trees.

"Mark? she asked.

"Hmmmm?"

"I missed out on so many years of your life. I would really like to hear what you've been up to all that time."

Mark shrugged a little. "What is there to tell? I left South America five years ago and moved back to Indiana to teach, and to be closer to my folks. They're starting to slow down and they need some help around the house sometimes. I have an apartment near the university campus. I wrote a couple of books while you were gone. I even dabbled in poetry. That was a new thing for me, and it kept me interested for a while. I still do events with the Questor Group. Debates and so forth. I keep pretty busy."

She nodded. "I read your books. They were wonderful. I'd love to discuss them with you sometime."

"Did you read 'A Flaw in the Masterpiece'?"

She nodded. "I did."

Mark blew out a long sigh. "I'm not sure I want to know what you thought of that one." He brushed the dirt off a large boulder and sat down on it. "I haven't so much as cracked a page open since it came out in print. I was in a pretty low place when I wrote it; it was supposed to be part of my therapy. I was embarrassed by it later."

She sat down next to him. Nearby, Mollie was snuffling at the base of a bush. "Not at all. I thought it was beautiful. Even hopeful."

He shook his head. "I was a mess. I felt bad for Jack - he's my counselor - I felt bad for Jack, trying to put me back together again. I was probably the kind of client he had to vent about when he went home to his wife at night. Losing you did a real number on me, Kath." His face was bleak. "But I'm sure it was nothing compared to what you were going through."

"Don't worry about me. I got through it all right. And so did you."

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'got through it,'" Mark said. "You know, back when you were grieving for Justin, there were times when I got impatient. Selfish. And I would wonder to myself, 'Why doesn't she just get over it already?'" He laughed humorlessly. "Well, now I know. You don't ever 'get over it.' No matter how hard you try. No matter how much time passes. You never, ever get over it."

"Maybe not," she said. "But you do learn to keep moving. And it sounds to me like you did that. You didn't stop living your life. I spent those years hoping that you would carve out some happiness for yourself somehow. Did you?"

"I gave up on you, if that's what you mean," Mark said sharply. The bitterness in his voice surprised her. "Phoebe never gave up hoping. Your mother stopped talking about it after a while, but I think some part of her still hoped, too. But not me. Six years of waiting, and then I stopped watching the skies for you. I started..." He choked slightly, and had to force out the next words. "I started pretending like I wasn't engaged to you anymore."

"Oh, Mark," she intervened quickly, not wanting him to feel like he had to explain. "Phoebe told me that you had been seeing someone you met at work. Vicky, isn't it? It's all right. I was prepared for that. I don't blame you, and I'm not upset. It's all right."

"It definitely is not all right!" Startled by how loudly Mark had spoken, Mollie lifted her head and then came trotting back to him and laid her head on his lap. "Whatever it is, it isn't 'all right'!"

"It is if I _say_ it is-"

"No! Look, Kathryn..." He searched for the right words. "Do you remember what you were doing on stardate 53004?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "Not off the top of my head, why?"

"You were fighting some... nucleogenic aliens," Mark said. "I think that was it. I had Owen look it up for me." She could see sweat beading up on his forehead. She couldn't understand where Mark was going with this.

"You lost two crewmembers that day," he added.

"I remember," she said softly. "That was when we met the Equinox crew. They betrayed us, left us without shields. The nucleogenic aliens attacked and we lost Claudia and Jay."

"I can't imagine," he said. "It must have been a nightmare."

"It wasn't one of our better days in the Delta Quadrant, no."

Mark's face was tense, the muscles in his jaw working. "Do you know where _I_ was that day?"

"I... have no idea. Mark, what are you trying to-"

"I was sitting in a French restaurant," he said. His expression was hard, his volume steadily rising. "Having dinner. With another woman!" He fairly spat the last words out.

"Mark..." The expression on his face shocked her. She had never seen him like this before. So... angry. Mark had never been the angry kind. "No. That isn't fair. Don't do that to yourself. You can't blame yourself-"

"But I do!" he interrupted fiercely. "I _do_ blame myself. I knew-" He shook his head wildly. "I _knew_ you were still alive. I kept telling everyone that, and they told me not to cling to you, they kept saying I needed to move on with my life, and they told me so many times that I finally listened to them, but I knew all the time, better than anyone else, how strong you are, how full of life, I knew you wouldn't go so easily-"

He panted for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I should never have listened to them!" he burst out.

She reached out with both hands, gripped his arms. "Mark, I did _not_ want you to make yourself miserable waiting for me," she said in the strongest possible tones. "That was what I feared the most. I never expected you to wait this long. I knew you had no reason to believe me alive. You couldn't have known. I'm not angry with you-"

"You should be. _I'm_ angry with me."

"No one is at fault here. We're the victims of... of bad luck, nothing more."

"No. Maybe it was bad luck that I couldn't be with you in body, but I still could have been with you in spirit." He flinched, and his expression deepened into contempt. "But I couldn't even do that much for you."

"Mark, when I heard about Vicky... I was happy that you found some happiness where you could."

"Happiness?" A look of shame crossed his face. Mollie put her paws up on his leg, and he brushed her off. "How could I be happy? I feel like I... like I cheated on you."

"Don't talk that way. You couldn't have known."

"That doesn't change how it feels." Mark brushed Mollie away again, and then stooped down and grabbed a stick and flung it away from him.

"Go fetch!" he ordered Mollie. She pranced around a little, confused by the fierceness of his command, but finally she trotted off obediently.

They were silent for a long moment as Mollie searched the ground noisily a short distance away. Mark scrubbed at his face with both hands.

Finally, he spoke again.

"I guess you don't have to answer this, Kath," he said slowly, "but I would really like to know. Did you... have a relationship with someone else? While you were gone? I... I won't be upset, I promise. Considering what I did, and... considering the circumstances, no one could blame you..." His voice trailed off. "I just... I would really like to know."

She was silent a moment. It was a simple enough question, one that she could answer truthfully without shame, and yet the uneasy feeling she'd had since entering the holodeck persisted.

"No," she said at last. "I didn't feel that I was free to have a relationship. Not only because of you, although that was a big part of it, but also because my choices were limited to my own crew, and I didn't think that would be appropriate."

"No," Mark repeated, and despite his words she could see how relieved he was by her answer. "No, of course not. I thought you might say that. So you haven't then. It wouldn't have been a problem, but it's good to know. Okay. You didn't. Okay."

Well. Not unless you count holograms.

She wondered what Mark would think if he met Michael Sullivan. He might even be flattered if he knew of the alterations she had made to Michael's programming to make him more educated and erudite, like Mark himself.

He would be less pleased if he knew she had also changed Michael's personality to be more provocative and outspoken... and why she had done _that_.

That was the moment when she finally put her finger on the source of her uneasiness. It wasn't that she was feeling guilty about flirting with a hologram. It was because it happened to be a hologram she had reprogrammed with Mark's mind... and Chakotay's personality.

And what was worse, she had known, deep down inside, exactly what she was doing when she did it. Self-loathing washed over Kathryn and took her breath away, and she stood up to walk out the agitation, rubbing her hands together.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, and she could tell he was sincere. "It must have been terribly lonely."

It had been, but Kathryn could not feel sorry for herself right now. It was more like contempt. What a piece of work she was. Her counselor would have a field day with this one, she thought. There she was, six years into their journey, sick of being alone, unable to have either of the men she wanted, so what had she done? She'd thrown the best of them together into one hologram, and done such a convincing job of it that she had managed to forget, for a short time, that Michael _was_ a hologram. The perfect man.

The only problem was, she had made him a little too perfect. It had been all pleasure and no challenge, and she had quickly lost interest. Even a perfect holographic man was a poor substitute for a real, imperfect one. Either one of them.

What a piece of work she was.

"Kath..." Mark said. "I've been thinking, these last two weeks. Thinking about everything we had, and everything we lost, and everything that could have been. Do you realize that if you hadn't been taken from me, that if we had been able to follow the plan that we made, that by now we would have a little 4-year-old running around the house?"

She turned to stare at him. He was looking at her steadily, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together, speaking slowly, as though in a dream:

"She would be talking by now. Learning her letters. Starting to show us her own little personality." His eyes clouded over. "There were times when I could swear that I could see her, as she would have been, day by day, year by year... I could _see_ her, Kathryn!"

"Please don't," she whispered.

"I don't want to think about might-have-beens," Mark said, standing up to face her, his voice growing stronger. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life thinking of you as the woman I almost had. I'm tired of thinking about yesterday, about regrets. You were the love of my life. You _are_ the love of my life.

"And I know how much time has passed," he went on, "and that you've changed, and I've changed, and everything has changed, but we worked so hard for what we had, and what we had was _good_ , and I just can't believe that it was all for nothing."

"What... are you saying?" she asked numbly.

"I'm saying that I still love you, Kath," Mark said, reaching out to take both her hands in his, "and that, as crazy as it sounds, I want to try to pick up where we left off. I want to try again."

Robbed of the power of speech, all she could do was look at him.

He waited for a long time, but finally he gently prompted her: "Say something," he said.

"I... don't know what to say." She had never spoken truer words.

If she had been in Mark's shoes, she would have been frustrated by her failure to answer, but Mark wasn't. No, he was looking at her with warm sympathy in his eyes. He had always been far kinder to her than she deserved. Even when she was being difficult. _Especially_ when she was being difficult. It was so like him to be so patient, and now it struck her with full force exactly what she had been missing out on all this time, all these years apart from him, that suddenly she found herself wondering why she hadn't already considered this possibility the moment Phoebe had told her Mark hadn't married in her absence.

"Let me ask you this," he asked gently. "Do you still have the ring I gave you?"

She hated to tell him. "No."

He tried hard not to react. "What did you do with it?" he asked calmly.

She took in several shallow breaths. "You know I used to wear it on a chain under my uniform. And then one day Voyager was taken over by a race called the Hirogen..." She quickly waved her hand. "You haven't heard of them. It doesn't matter. They like to take trophies from their prey. I think one of them must have taken it from me after they defeated me in one of their holodeck scenarios. I never found it after that. Mark, I'm so sorry..."

"It's all right," he said quickly. "It's all right. I don't really care about the ring. I'm just trying to find out..." He licked his lips. "I guess I'm trying to ask if you still love me."

"Of course I do," she said quickly, looking into his eyes. "I always have, and I always will. But Mark... what about Vicky? Phoebe seemed to think it was pretty serious between the two of you. Don't you...?"

"Love her?" Mark finished. "I do." His eyes were thoroughly miserable. "But I love you, too, and I can't... I can't have both of you. I have to make a choice. And I have no one to blame but myself for getting into this mess. If I had just been a little more patient..."

"There was no way you could have known," she said again.

He let that pass. "Now you know why it took me so long to be able to face you again," he said quietly. "I've been trying to figure out the right thing to do. I'm not even sure there _is_ a right answer." He laughed humorlessly. "This is the kind of ethical thicket I love to traverse. In the classroom. In books. Where it's all safely academic. I find I don't much like it in real life. In fact, I envy you. You've been out there, in space, making the real choices all your life. I imagine it isn't so foreign to you."

Her shoulders sagged. "Don't envy me. It doesn't get any easier with practice."

"Listen, Kath, you don't have to answer right away. I didn't mean to overwhelm you, showing up at your work like this, but I made up my mind this afternoon what to do, and I knew I had to do it right away before I lost my nerve. Just... think about it, all right? And if I can see you sometime soon, so we can get to know each other again, I think that would be good. We have a lot of catching up to do."

She opened her mouth to say how impossible that was, how packed her schedule was and none of it was extraneous, but she knew in an instant that none of that mattered, that this had to come before work, before friends, before everything. She tried to think of what was on her schedule tomorrow after the debriefing. She didn't think she should bail on Stadi's grieving family, whom she was supposed to see later in the evening, but the dinner appointment...

She hated to cancel on Chakotay, but she had spent a whole day with him only two days ago, and she would be able to see him every day at work and check up on him then. She felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that Chakotay was struggling with heartbreak just as much as Mark was right now, but she could not be in two places at once, and at the moment Mark's need seemed to be more urgent. She shoved her misgivings aside.

"I'm free for dinner tomorrow," she said.

"Okay," Mark said. He looked relieved. "Tomorrow night. That's good. I was afraid your work would make it difficult. You must have everyone on Earth clamoring for your time."

"I'll always have time for you," she said. "But Mark... what about Vicky? Does she know...?"

Mark nodded slowly. "She knows how... conflicted I am right now. She was right there with me these last few years while I was trying to learn how to live without you. She understands that it's a difficult situation for me. She is a very... understanding person. That's why I chose her..." His voice trailed off. "She told me to take the time that I needed to figure things out."

"Still, this can't be easy on her, either," Kathryn said.

"No." Mark looked bleak. "She doesn't deserve any of this. Not her, not you, not anyone. If I had ever gotten the chance to meet this Caretaker of yours..." His face contorted with a most un-Mark-like expression. "I swear I would have strangled him with both hands."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Author's note:** Your thoughts and opinions are appreciated, as always!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

When the transporter beam released him, Chakotay sighed deeply and wearily rubbed the back of his neck before stepping down from the platform. The technician at the console nodded curtly to him before returning his attention to the PADD he was holding. The man wasn't a resident of Huatabampo, Chakotay had discovered that morning when he had struck up a brief conversation. There was no one in Huatabampo who knew how to operate a transporter, or cared to learn. The transportation department had to send in technicians from other cities to man the equipment, and even so the transport station was rarely used by the locals.

The trip to Sandrine's had been cancelled. When Kathryn had sent word that she wouldn't be able to make it that night, the rest of the senior staff had decided to put it off for a night when they could all come. Chakotay wasn't sorry; he was tired after their first day of debriefings, and hadn't really been looking forward to the gathering. But now he was worried about Kathryn. She must have been anxious about meeting Mark again, and he could only imagine her reaction when Tom told her Mark had showed up at Starfleet Headquarters without warning like that.

Chakotay went into the station's lobby and typed his security code into one of the storage lockers there. He pulled out his bag and took it into the restroom, where he stripped off his uniform and changed into the civilian clothes he had packed. He placed the uniform into the refresher, waited while the blue light washed over it, and when the uniform reappeared, sanitized and folded, he picked it up and carefully stored it in his bag along with his boots. He left the restroom and put the bag back in the storage locker. When he returned in the morning, he would change back into his uniform before transporting to San Francisco.

He knew better than to wear a Starfleet uniform in Sekaya's home.

It was sweltering outside, with the bright sun glaring off the white buildings lining the dusty road. Must be in the 90s already, and it was only May. He silently cursed Sekaya for settling in a home nearly a mile from the transport station, but he knew perfectly well it wouldn't have been a consideration for her when she moved here. She rarely left the village.

He set off down the road, passing small repair shops and stables, interspersed with patches of tall cactus and the occasional palm tree. He passed the little shop that distributed Sekaya's intricate beaded and embroidered clothing, along with other local handmade items. The old woman who ran the shop was sitting in the shade of the shop's front porch, and she waved at him as he went by. Like many people in Huatabampo, she was of Mayan descent. There were a fair number from the Mayo, Yaquis and Seris tribes here too, many of whom had some portion of Spanish blood in their veins from the days of Spain's long-ago conquest.

There was also a small handful of people in the village who claimed ancestry not only from the Maya, but also from the Rubber Tree People, like Sekaya and himself. Although their physical features were not distinguishable from the more pure-blooded Mayas, they were easily identified by the tattoos many of them chose to wear over their left eye, like his own. Their traditions were somewhat different as well. Since most people around here were of mixed heritage, affiliation with a particular tribe often had as much to do with the culture they chose to align with, as with their actual genetics - and from the start Chakotay's parents had committed themselves to the pursuit of the Rubber Tree People's way of life.

Chakotay hadn't seen many of the Rubber Tree People around here, though. Nearly all the descendants of that tribe had settled on Dorvan 5, and when the Cardassians had slaughtered many of them and driven off the rest, their close-knit community had come unraveled.

Some were now back on Dorvan 5, trying to rebuild. Some, like Sekaya, had returned to Earth, sequestering themselves in various small traditionalist communities in Central America to nurse their spiritual wounds and try to preserve what they could of their history and way of life. Others had scattered throughout the quadrant, settling in other colonies and intermingling with their cultures. There was an old man here in Huatabampo who spent much of his time simply trying to track down the locations of every member of the tribe and keep records of them, but privately Chakotay thought the man had set himself an impossible task. They were just too scattered.

The road curved up and around a broad hill as it left the dusty village. Chakotay wiped a trickle of sweat from his neck and wearily slogged up and up. He passed a group of boys heading downhill, most of them still dripping wet from a plunge in the nearby swimming hole, all of them hollering and laughing at the top of their lungs as they headed home for dinner. They were naked except for the sandals on their feet.

Such a sight had been common back on Dorvan 5 - he himself had gone skinny dipping with his friends on a nearly daily basis at a certain age - but Chakotay had a moment's pause before he remembered not to be shocked. He had been in a Starfleet frame of mind for so long, he had nearly forgotten that among his own people, public nudity was not seen a shameful thing or even a notable occurrence, particularly for the children.

The noise of the boys faded into the distance. When Chakotay got to the top of the hill, he paused to catch his breath and appreciate the view. The broad blue expanse of the Gulf of California filled the horizon. Far across the waves, he could see the brown mounds of Baja California, hazy in the heat of the day. Closer at hand and to the southeast, the Yavaros River curved around the perimeter of the village and emptied itself into the sea. Chakotay could see a handful of small fishing boats bobbing near the shore. Sekaya's husband, Atl, might be in one of them.

At least up here, a sea breeze occasionally rose up and blew, cool and refreshing, through his damp hair. When he was rested enough, Chakotay headed down the other side of the hill.

Soon, he saw the house, small and white and shaded by trees, and gratefully he opened the door and walked into the cool darkness. No one was in the living room or the kitchen, but after he got himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter to drink it, Sekaya emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"Oh, it's you," she said, and came to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You beat Atl home. Wow, you are sweaty. Hot day?"

"It's a scorcher. Haven't you been outside?"

Sekaya shook her head. "I've been using the computer in your room," she said. "You had alerts set to chime every time a story moved on the newsfeeds that mentions Voyager or the Maquis. I've been watching all day. I didn't get anything done." She glanced at her unopened boxes of beads and embroidery thread spread across the table.

Chakotay sighed. "You've been looking at that all day? I wish you hadn't."

Sekaya slowly sank down into a kitchen chair. "I'm sorry I touched your things."

"I don't care about that. I just know how much it upsets you. You're better off leaving it alone."

Sekaya looked down and pressed her lips together. Her hands spasmed together in her lap. "I haven't looked at the newsfeeds in years. I forgot how Federation-centric they all are. It's incredible the number of assumptions they make about people like us, isn't it? How can you bear living among them? Was it very awful today?"

"It wasn't too bad. Debriefings are never pleasant, but it was good to see my friends again."

"It's like they don't even try to be fair," Sekaya said, and it took Chakotay a moment to realize she was still talking about the newsfeeds. "They make a big fuss over Captain Janeway, like she's some kind of hero, and in the same breath they dismiss the fact that your crew accomplished just as much as hers did."

"There's only one crew, and only one captain," Chakotay said mildly. "It's natural for her to be the face of Voyager, as far as the public is concerned."

"Yes, and I'm sure she'll accurately represent your viewpoints at every turn," Sekaya said bitterly. "Just like Starfleet always does. No need for the colonists to speak for themselves, oh no. Starfleet knows best."

"If you've been watching the newsfeeds all day, then you'll know that Captain Janeway never fails to defend us, in every interview she does," Chakotay pointed out.

Sekaya scoffed. "I'm sure she knows how magnanimous it makes her look. Look at Captain Janeway, so loyal to her crew, so merciful, even though they're a bunch of criminals who she was about to arrest, until she realized she needed them to keep her own ship running!"

Chakotay was more than a little annoyed. "It wasn't like that. We've been through this before, Sekaya. However things started between us, Captain Janeway is my friend now."

"Your friend? You mean like your last commanding officer? Like Nimimby? The man who went out for drinks with you, the man who was so very sorry when we lost our colony, who was so very sorry that Father and Centehua were killed, and then when you came to him to resign, with the ink still fresh on your face, suddenly he wasn't so sorry for you anymore, was he?"

"Nothing he could have said would have changed my mind."

"He didn't even _try_!" Sekaya burst out.

"You think that conversation was any easier for him than it was for me?"

"You weren't there, Chakotay! You weren't there when Nimimby came back. You were gone, out making the people who killed Father and Centehua pay for what they did, and here comes Nimimby to my house. Where's your brother, Sekaya? We only want to talk to him. All you have to do is call us when he comes to visit you. Just turn in your own brother. Don't worry, he'll get a fair trial. He might not get a life sentence if he cooperates. _You_ might not be charged if _you_ cooperate, Sekaya!"

"Fine then, hate Nimimby if you want, but don't punish Captain Janeway for something another officer did."

"They're all the same! That's what 'uniform' _means_. Trust me, she'll end up abandoning you when your 'friendship' ceases to be convenient, just like he did."

Chakotay felt himself threatening to explode. "I've known her for eight years. You've barely met her."

"I know, I know. No offense, Chakotay, but sometimes you can be a terrible judge of character."

"And you're so much better? Wasn't it you who told me how great Seska was, and that I should bring her around more often?"

Sekaya flushed. "I thought maybe you were finally going to settle down. Besides, she fooled you too!"

"Don't you think I learned something from that little experience? Like how to withhold trust until it's been earned?"

Sekaya modulated her tone somewhat. "I didn't mean to start an argument. I just don't want to see you get hurt again, all right?"

"Fine. Let me take care of that."

"Fine. You do that."

"I will."

Chakotay left and went into his room - or rather, the room that used to be his nephew Ikal's, until he had left for Dorvan 5 to help rebuild. So much for relaxing after a long day at work. He thought he should go out for a swim and cool off, like he had planned, but instead he just sat at the desk for a long time, not doing anything, not even really thinking anything. He was so tired. Not physically tired. Mentally. Emotionally. Fleetingly he thought of the peace he had felt just a few days ago, sitting in Phoebe's backyard with Kathryn and her family as the sun went down, reminiscing about their adventures on Voyager, and he wished he could go back to it.

At least he would see Kathryn again tomorrow night at their usual Tuesday night dinner. He dreaded to think what Sekaya would say when he told her that's where he was going. Well, he just wouldn't tell her. He had told Sekaya he would spend most weeknights in San Francisco, anyway, so she wouldn't think anything of it if he didn't come to Huatabampo tomorrow night.

It occurred to him then that Kathryn had never said whether she wanted to have dinner at his San Francisco apartment or hers, or even what time they should meet. If she wanted to come to his place, he would have to go there early in the morning, before the debriefing, to unpack some of his personal belongings. Right now it was just impersonal standard-issue furnishings. Not very home-like. Chakotay roused himself, and logged into his computer.

He didn't really expect to be able to gain access to Kathryn's schedule, since she had an assistant now and the security codes had probably been changed, but to his surprise his old codes worked and her schedule popped up on the screen.

He found the entry for Tuesday night easily. But when he saw what was typed there, he leaned back and blinked several times.

 _18:00, dinner, Mark Johnson_

He sat there confused. She _had_ said Tuesday night, hadn't she? Like they had been doing for years. He couldn't have misheard that. It didn't really surprise him that Kathryn was going to spend time with Mark; in fact, it was perfectly natural for her to do so, but the time couldn't be right. Maybe Chrissie had made a mistake, and mixed up his appointment with Mark's. Or maybe Kathryn had just juggled the schedule somehow and was going to tell him about it in the morning. He tried not to be bothered by the possibility. There was no reason why she couldn't see Mark whenever she wanted to.

He did a search for his own name, but it wasn't anywhere on the schedule for this week. It looked like Kathryn hadn't been exaggerating about her packed schedule. In addition to the daily debriefings, she was doing a bereavement visit every single weeknight, and two of them on Friday. Several early mornings had an hour reserved for Joan, her counselor. All of her lunches and dinners were meetings with people, some of them admirals, some of them reporters, some of them names Chakotay was unfamiliar with. Then there were three more bereavement visits on Saturday morning, and the afternoon was reserved for Seven of Nine. If Seven was as unhappy as Kathryn had seemed to think, that visit was bound to be more like work than recreation. Sunday was marked simply "family time." Well, at least she would get a rest after such a hectic week.

In that case, maybe the weekly dinners would have to wait until next week to start again. He went and looked at the next week's schedule. It was just as full as this week. And in next Tuesday's slot, the entire evening was blocked out from 18:00 on and was labeled "Questor debate."

Questor. The word rang a bell, but Chakotay couldn't remember where he had heard it. He searched the database for it.

It turned out the Questor Group was a think tank based in South America. And now Chakotay remembered where he had heard of it. Sure enough, there was the list of members, and up near the top was the name of Mark Johnson, labeled as a "senior debater." So Kathryn would be with Mark next Tuesday, too.

Chakotay could feel himself growing irritated, and he hated himself for it, because he knew he didn't have a right to feel this way. He couldn't expect things to be like they were on Voyager, when Kathryn's social life had been so limited out of necessity that Chakotay had been able to see her almost anytime he chose during their off hours. But he knew he didn't own her time. Kathryn hadn't seen Mark in a very long time, and of course she would prioritize getting to know him again. There was nothing to be upset about.

And yet there was a niggling little doubt in Chakotay's mind, one that kept taunting him with Tom Paris' observation: "He isn't wearing a wedding ring."

Chakotay knew it was a mistake even as he did it, but he did it anyway. He opened Mark Johnson's profile in the computer database.

Professor at Indiana University. Participant in the Questor Group for 24 years. Residing in Bloomington, Indiana. A little blurb about his personal interests: it turned out he was a champion swimmer. Nothing mentioned about wife or kids, but there was a fairly long list of books he had authored. Chakotay read down the list of published titles.

They were all listed under the category of philosophy. One of them was titled "The Maquis: Why Revolutionaries Rush In Where Governments Fear to Tread." Curious, Chakotay opened the text and began scanning through pages at random.

Contrary to what Phoebe Llewellyn had seemed to hint at during their homecoming reception, the book did not seem to be openly advocating for the Maquis cause. Rather, it was an in-depth work about revolutionaries throughout history, clearly written by an academic for other academics, and too laden with jargon and references to other philosophers to work as a call to action.

But every point was lucidly expressed and the insights were meticulously thought out, and within ten or fifteen minutes of reading, Chakotay could see himself in the picture Mark Johnson was painting. Whatever Mark thought about the Maquis, he clearly understood what they were about, which was more than Chakotay could say for many people who seemed to feel they were qualified to opine on the subject.

He would have to come back and read the book properly on some other night when he was feeling up to it. Chakotay went back to the list of published works and paused for a moment to think. He didn't know why he felt so surprised that he was impressed by Mark's work. Kathryn couldn't have been happy with someone who couldn't keep up with her intellectually. Of course Mark was clever. Of course Kathryn would have been drawn to that. He could just see them, spending their evenings together wrangling with each other over some philosophical issue or another. And unlike the arguments Chakotay had had with Kathryn over the years, she wouldn't have been able to win any arguments with Mark by snapping out an order and telling him the time for debate was over.

For some reason this thought amused Chakotay. He wondered if Mark had ever managed to win some of those arguments, since he had the privilege of fighting Kathryn on an even playing field. Chakotay wondered if he himself would have won more arguments with Kathryn if he had held the same privilege.

Then, as he stared idly at the screen, another title seemed to leap off the screen at him: "A Flaw in the Masterpiece." It was so different from the dry, academic titles of Mark's other books that Chakotay read through the description. It turned out to be a book of poetry and personal essays about love and loss. He opened the first page and read the dedication:

 _For Kathryn_

The first poem of the book was titled "Forever Autumn."

 _The summer sun is fading as the year grows old,_

 _and darker days are drawing near._

 _The winter winds will be much colder,_

 _now you're not here._

 _I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky_

 _and one by one they disappear._

 _I wish that I was flying with them,_

 _now you're not here._

 _Like the sun through the trees you came to love me_

 _Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away._

It felt like a punch in the gut. The poem went on, but Chakotay couldn't read the rest. He cleared the text from his screen without reading another word, pushed himself away from the desk, and blindly went outside into the scorching sunshine.

Atl was just coming in with a knapsack on his back, his fishing gear slung over his shoulder, and a string of mackerel and totoaba in his other hand. He looked at Chakotay from head to toe, and then said in his typical understated way: "You look upset."

And that was all he said. No small talk, no pushing for explanations, no unsolicited advice. Chakotay knew Atl well enough to know that there was always far more going on in his head than there was coming out of his mouth. Hadn't he spent entire days with Atl these last few weeks, fishing in the ocean together for hours and hardly saying a word to each other? But when Chakotay did bring up a topic, Atl would listen in silence with total attention, and if Chakotay asked his opinion he never failed to have some bit of wisdom, short but well-thought-out, to share.

But Chakotay was in no mood to talk, so he ignored Atl's subtle offer to listen, and instead said: "Sekaya's been reading anti-Maquis things all day. She's pretty upset. I tried to calm her down, but I think I just made it worse."

Atl was silent for a moment. He set down his fishing gear on the front porch.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

And without another word, he took the fish into the house.

Chakotay paced around the front yard for several minutes, but it didn't help and he realized he would have to work off his agitation somehow. If only he were on Voyager, he could head for the holodeck and take things out on a punching bag for a while. But there were no holodecks in Huatabampo. Then he remembered the teak tree.

He went around to the backyard, where it lay sprawled across the grass. The forest stewards guild was working to thin down the old plantation down the road, and they had granted his request for one of the felled trees and brought it over a few days ago, already sliced into manageable sections. He hadn't figured out what to do with the wood yet, but he might as well get started cleaning it up tonight.

Chakotay grabbed a hatchet from Atl's tool shed, began hacking smaller branches off the trunk, and tried to figure out just why he was so upset.

He hadn't learned anything today that he hadn't already known. So Mark was smart. So he was a good match for Kathryn. So he was in love with her, and had been devastated when he lost her. All things Chakotay already knew or guessed. And none of those facts had any bearing on what Chakotay felt for Kathryn, or what she felt for him.

What _did_ she feel for him?

During the Equinox incident, she had admitted to Chakotay that she loved him. That she had tried to resist it, knowing the obstacles that lay in their path, but she had failed. She tried to give Chakotay command of the Equinox so that they would be free to pursue a relationship without running afoul of Starfleet policies regarding the chain of command. But the treachery of Commander Burke had led to the ship's destruction, and they had been forced to end a relationship that hadn't even really started.

Kathryn's confession had changed everything for Chakotay. Up until then, he tried to temper his passion for her. He wasn't interested in pining over a woman who didn't feel the same way about him. But then Kathryn had given him hope. Despite the disappointment of missing their opportunity to be together, the last two years in the Delta Quadrant had been the best part of the journey. Every time Chakotay felt himself weighed down with loneliness, he could remind himself that there was a woman who loved him, even if it was from a distance, and such a woman! For the first time in his life, he had found one worth waiting for.

He had a length of log cleared of all branches now. Chakotay buried the hatchet in a stump and used a mallet to tap a splitting wedge into the end of the log, and then he worked several more wedges into the ever-lengthening crack in the wood. Soon the log split neatly in half with a satisfying crack.

It occurred to Chakotay that while he had promised to wait for Kathryn until they got home, she had never made any promises to him.

But Mark... she _had_ made a promise to Mark. A formal one, one that wasn't to be taken lightly. And if she still loved Mark, and had the opportunity to get him back... why shouldn't she?

He started another split. Thanks to the exertion and the scorching sun, his shirt was getting sweaty and it clung to his skin uncomfortably. He took it off and threw it over a tree branch. Out of long habit, he paused for a moment to run his palm over the scar running diagonally across his ribs. As always, he saw a flash of the Cardassian soldier's face as he slashed at Chakotay, and remembered the pain. It was going on 10 years now, but that memory was never old enough to fade. It probably never would be.

He should have known. He should have known this would happen. The giveaway was the telepathic pitcher plant, that thrice-cursed bioplasmic lifeform Voyager had encountered in their sixth year, the one that had lured them into its belly by making them believe everything they wanted to believe, including deceiving them into thinking Starfleet had contacted them and given them directions to a wormhole that would take them home. It had made Chakotay believe that Starfleet had accepted his application to rejoin them.

And it had made Kathryn believe that Mark was still waiting for her.

At the time that hadn't struck him as odd. The alien was telepathic, and obviously it had pulled emotionally significant memories from their minds and twisted them for its own purposes. Now it seemed unaccountably strange to him that Kathryn, even after six years, even after taking down Mark's picture and ceasing to talk about him, would be so eager to believe that she could still be with him.

How did he not see the truth? Kathryn still loved Mark. The only reason she had tried to move on was because she assumed she had already lost him.

Now she knew that she hadn't lost him at all.

As for Chakotay, what had he ever shared with Kathryn? A look here, a smile there. One kiss and a single declaration of love, and that practically given under duress. What had Mark shared with her? Years of open, unashamed love. Thousands of intimate moments. A diamond ring and a vow to spend the rest of their lives together.

How could he ever hope to compete with that?

He heard footsteps swishing through the grass behind him. Sekaya, or Atl. It must be dinnertime, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was sit at a table and make pleasant conversation.

The footsteps halted behind him.

"I'm not hungry," he said, not bothering to turn around.

"Good," Sekaya said, "because I didn't bring you any food."

He glanced back at her. She was standing there, unsmiling, with her eyes squinting against the sun.

"You have a visitor," Sekaya said. "Do you want to see her? You look like you're still in a rotten mood."

Chakotay's heart nearly stopped. Kathryn? She had come here after all? He was simultaneously relieved and concerned. She didn't know not to come in uniform, and if she had, Sekaya had probably already been unpleasant to her. This was not the way he had planned to introduce them to each other. It should have been done gently, gradually. But if it was done, it was done, and he would just have to make the best of it.

Sekaya shifted impatiently. "Do you want to see her or not? If you're just going to sweat out here and sulk, I might as well keep her in the house where it's cool and catch up with her myself. It's been a long time."

"Catch up with her?" Chakotay stared at her. "Who, exactly, are we talking about?"

"Are you blind?" Sekaya said, gesturing toward the house.

Chakotay looked over. There, standing in the back doorway watching them, was B'Elanna Torres. She was dressed in civilian clothing and looked to be in a rotten mood as well. Terrific. Just what he needed. A cranky Klingon to go along with his self-pity.

"Well?"

Chakotay lifted his arms helplessly. "Yes, fine, bring her out."

Sekaya left, and a few moments later B'Elanna came over, tossed a duffel bag on the grass, and sat down on a log.

"Hey," she said.

Chakotay picked up an armful of wood scraps and tossed them away from his work area with more force than was strictly necessary. "Hey."

B'Elanna nudged a scrap away from her foot. "Bad day?"

"You could say that."

"I know how you feel."

She fell silent, and Chakotay fastened a piece of wood into the vice and started to plane it. He worked for several minutes in silence. B'Elanna didn't say anything, just watched him work while her face beaded with sweat and her hair began to stick to her neck in damp strands. She was wearing a jacket despite the sweltering heat, but she made no move to take it off.

Chakotay finished with one piece, tossed it to the side, and started on the next. He was planing more vigorously than he needed to, and the pieces weren't turning out well. He didn't care.

"What are you making?" B'Elanna asked.

"No idea."

She laughed, a short, humorless bark that sounded almost like a grunt of pain. "You don't know? Then why are you doing it?"

Chakotay was annoyed. B'Elanna's presence was tolerable as long as she didn't talk, but he had a horrible suspicion that she was here for an informal counseling session, and that was the last thing on Earth he wanted to do right now. For eight long years he had counseled and comforted every struggling crewmember who had come to his attention and done everything he could to pull them out of their pit of despair, and now, just once, he wanted someone to come ask how they could help _him_ , and instead people were still coming to him expecting him to drop everything and fix their problems. Well, he was sick of it.

He didn't bother to answer her question, just tossed another piece aside and rummaged through the pile for the next one.

B'Elanna kept quiet for a long time after that, and just watched the pile of planed pieces grow larger and larger.

The only thing that broke the silence at last was B'Elanna's combadge chirping.

"Hey, B'eh, what happened?" Tom's friendly voice came over the com.

"What do you mean, what happened?" B'Elanna said, almost in a monotone.

"I thought you were just getting a few things. What are you doing, packing up our entire quarters? Do I need to bring an anti-grav sled over to Voyager to carry it all?"

Chakotay paused in his work for the first time, and looked at B'Elanna curiously.

"No, I was," B'Elanna said. "I mean, I did. I am just getting a few things. I ran into Chakotay. We got to talking and lost track of the time."

"Oh. Hi, Chakotay."

Chakotay hesitated a moment. "Hi, Tom."

"Okay, well, have fun," Tom said. "Don't let me rush you, but, uh... I think Miral is going to need you for a feeding pretty soon."

"I know that," B'Elanna said sharply. "You don't have to remind me, Tom."

"I know I don't," Tom said, suddenly sounding defensive. "I just didn't know if you knew how long it's been-"

"I know, okay?" B'Elanna said. "My body doesn't let me forget."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you when you get home. Love you."

"Bye." B'Elanna hit her combadge to end the call. She sat there for a moment, and then suddenly she stood up, kicked her duffel bag across the yard and shouted wordlessly into the sky. A flock of birds took flight, startled by the noise.

Chakotay gave up on having a good sulk in private. He grabbed his shirt off the tree branch and used it to wipe sweat off his forehead and neck.

"Fine, I'll bite," he said. "What is going on?"

B'Elanna had collapsed back onto the log and was pressing one hand against her chest, grimacing as if in pain. "Nothing," she said.

"Obviously it isn't nothing. Are you having a fight with Tom?"

"No."

"Upset about the Maquis?"

"No."

He looked at her steadily. "I don't believe you."

"No?" B'Elanna rubbed her hand across her chest slowly. "Guess what I'm feeling about the Maquis?"

"I don't know. Angry. Sad. Maybe a little guilty that you weren't there to die with them?"

"Is that what you feel?" she asked.

"Yes."

B'Elanna moodily picked bark off the log she was sitting on. "You're lucky. I don't feel a thing."

Chakotay threw his damp shirt aside and sat cross-legged on the ground in front of her. "The Maquis were like family to you," he said gently. "I can understand you trying to block out that kind of pain. But sooner or later, you'll have to let yourself grieve."

"Why?" B'Elanna demanded. "Just so I can go through it all over again?" She pushed her hair off her sweaty face impatiently. "When I was six, my father walked out on me. When I was nineteen, I got kicked out of Starfleet. Now I find out all my old friends have been slaughtered. The way I figure it, I've lost every family I ever had."

"What kind of talk is that?" Chakotay said. "I know the universe dealt you a bad hand, and I'm sorry for everything you've had to endure, but now you have a child and a spouse who loves you." His jaw clenched slightly. "That's more than a lot of people have."

"I ran away from them today," B'Elanna said. "I lied and said I needed to get some of my things from Voyager, but then I went to the holodeck."

"It's normal to want some time to yourself-"

"Tom's parents _hate_ me!" B'Elanna suddenly burst out. "They hate me, and they don't want me in their home, but they're too cowardly to come out and _say_ it! So I left. I thought everyone would be happier that way. I went to the holodeck and I..."

She suddenly seemed to have trouble catching her breath, but the words kept tumbling out faster and faster, as though she wanted to get them out before it was too late. "I turned on one of those stupid Klingon combat programs Tom's always trying to get me to do. I got a bat'leth and just started trying to kill everything in sight. But I wasn't fighting very well and one of the warriors hit me across the chest. It hurt really bad... because I'm feeding the baby, everything's... sensitive there, and I was _glad_ it hurt, because at least I was feeling _something_... and then suddenly I thought, what if I can't feed the baby now? And then I got really scared, but I couldn't go back home to Tom's parents, not when I was... like _that_ , so I came here instead."

Chakotay listened to this story with growing alarm. "B'Elanna, what...?" he said, bewildered. He couldn't even think of the right question to ask her, so instead he asked the simplest, most straightforward question that came to mind. "How did you get hurt on the holodeck? Were the safeties malfunctioning?"

"No. I turned them off."

"You... You turned them _off_? For a _combat_ program?"

"I told you. I wanted to feel something."

Chakotay was horrified. "B'Elanna...!" His mind was racing. "You could have been killed! What did you get hit with? Not a bat'leth? Is it bad?" He got up on his knees and reached up to unzip her jacket. She didn't make a move to stop him.

He slowly pulled the zipper down and pushed the edges of the jacket back. She was wearing a white shirt underneath, but there was a line of bright red going across the top of her breasts, and the fabric underneath was thoroughly soaked with blood.

Shocked, Chakotay fell back onto his heels.

"My God..." he whispered, feeling his face go white.

She had been sitting there like that the whole time... and she hadn't said a word...

"It's okay, I think the bleeding's stopped now," B'Elanna said, gingerly touching the wet patch on her shirt. "I think it looks worse than it is."

...and he had been ignoring her... wishing she would just go away... And even now she was sitting there, the very picture of calm, looking down at her bloodsoaked shirt. Chakotay felt an irrational urge to shake her.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" he cried hoarsely.

She shook her head slightly. "I don't know."

He was terrified to ask, but he had to. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

B'Elanna took a long moment to answer. Finally, she said, "I don't think so. I think I was trying to make sure I was still alive."

His mouth was so dry it was hard to talk. "We have to get you inside," he said. He stood up, fighting a wave of dizziness, whether from the heat or the shock, he wasn't sure which. "You need a dermal regenerator."

"Your sister's a traditionalist," B'Elanna said, wincing as he pulled her to her feet.

"She's traditionalist. She isn't stupid," Chakotay said. "She has a medkit for emergencies. Come on."

He took her into the house. Sekaya was at the kitchen counter wrapping fish in banana leaves, but she dropped what she was doing when she saw B'Elanna.

"What happened?" she cried. "Did one of your tools slip?"

"Go get the medkit," Chakotay said, but she was already running over to the cupboard.

Sekaya thankfully didn't ask any more questions, she just hustled B'Elanna back into her bedroom to help her take off the shirt and run a dermal regenerator over the wound. Chakotay went into his room to find a fresh shirt of his own to change into and then waited impatiently. At last the two women emerged again, and Chakotay saw with relief that B'Elanna was cleaned up and wearing one of Sekaya's shirts.

"She's okay," Sekaya said. "It wasn't too deep. I think I got it all closed up, but you might want to have a doctor look at it just to be sure it didn't get infected or anything."

They made B'Elanna sit and rest for a while, and drink some water. Chakotay gave Sekaya a significant look and nodded his head toward the door, and without a word she left the room.

B'Elanna stared down at the kitchen table. "You're going to tell Tom, aren't you?" she said.

"No, _you're_ going to tell Tom," he said. "Tonight. And you'd better believe I'm going to check to see that you do."

"I knew you would say that. And I guess you're going to tell the captain, too?"

"What for?"

B'Elanna gave him a puzzled look. "Because she's the captain."

Chakotay glared at the same spot on the table B'Elanna had been staring at a minute ago. "She isn't our captain."

"What are you talking about?" B'Elanna demanded. "Of course she is!"

"We're not a part of Voyager's crew anymore, B'Elanna. You know it as well as I do. We've been removed from her command, and we're on our own now."

He didn't like the way B'Elanna looked at him, first with disbelief, then, unexpectedly, with the unmistakable glistening of tears in her eyes.

"So what are you saying, that now I've lost _that_ family too?" she demanded.

"Didn't you know it was all going to end when we got home?" he said, and pushed his chair away from the table. "Don't tell me you actually _want_ me to tell the captain?" He stood up and shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

"Not especially," B'Elanna said slowly, looking up at him. "But I thought you would insist..."

"Are you feeling well enough to walk back to the transporter pad?" he asked. "It's nearly a mile away, and Tom will get worried if you're gone for much longer."

"I can make it."

"I'll walk with you."

B'Elanna slowly got up and followed him to the door. "I'm beginning to wish I had never heard of a transwarp conduit," she said as he held the door open for her.

Chakotay picked up her duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"I know how you feel," he said wearily.

He walked her to the transport station, and as soon as he made it back to Sekaya's house he sat on a sawn log ring in the yard and made a quick call to Tom to make sure B'Elanna had actually gone home. Tom said she was there, but was busy feeding Miral. He sounded completely normal and Chakotay was sure B'Elanna hadn't had a chance to tell him anything yet. He would have to speak to Tom alone tomorrow and make sure it had happened by then. Hopefully B'Elanna would be sensible about it and not make him of all people deliver the news to Tom.

Chakotay shuffled wearily into the house and sat down in the living room. Sekaya came in from the kitchen, bringing with her the scent of baked fish and achiote.

"Dinner's ready," she said. "We waited for you."

Chakotay rubbed his aching neck. "I'll be there in a minute."

Sekaya nodded, and then slowly started to walk away.

Then she stopped, and came back. Unexpectedly, she knelt down on the floor and laid her head on his knee, with her face turned away from him. Her long hair flowed over his leg like black silk.

"I'm sorry, Chakotay," she whispered. She gave out a shaky sob. "I hate myself. You're in some... living nightmare, and I've been telling myself ever since you got home that I'm going to be the one to make everything right for you again. But I'm only making things worse." She started to cry. "I never should have looked at those stupid newsfeeds. I never should have said anything to you."

All the anger Chakotay had been holding in his heart melted. He gently ran his fingers down Sekaya's smooth hair, and rubbed her shaking shoulder while she cried.

"It's all right," he murmured.

"No, it isn't," she protested tearfully, lifting her head up to look at him. "You're right that I misjudged Seska. I should have known that there was something wrong. I _did_ know, in a way. Once when you brought her over, I started telling her about a vision quest I had taken... and she barely even bothered to hide her contempt for our beliefs. I didn't understand it. I thought a Bajoran, of all people, would understand about spirituality... but she didn't. I should have warned you about her. I should have known something was wrong."

"You couldn't possibly have known," he said wearily.

"I just wanted you to be happy with someone. I didn't want to spoil it for you."

"It's all right," he repeated. "It's done now. I don't waste my time thinking about her anymore, and neither should you."

Sekaya wiped the tears off her cheek and sniffed. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **A/N:** Credit for the poem in Mark's book goes to Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues. Thank you to everyone who has been leaving me reviews! Let me know what you think of this week's developments.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thanks for all the great feedback last chapter (and thanks to Guest for the reminder about metrics!). I always feel bad when I have a delay between posting chapters, but darn it all, sometimes real life gets in the way. Anyway, here's the next installment.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"I don't know what to do."

Joan looked at Kathryn sympathetically. They were sitting in armchairs set close together, while a San Francisco rainstorm beat at the windows outside. The weak early-morning sunlight could hardly penetrate the gray skies, but the counselor's office was brightly lit by warm yellow lamps and inside it felt as warm and snug as they could wish.

"Why don't you know what to do?" Joan asked her. There was something about the older woman's bearing that reminded Kathryn strongly of her grandmother on her father's side, although her silvery cropped hair could not have been more different from Grandma Elizabeth's wild mane. Maybe it was that subtle familiarity that made it so easy for Kathryn to talk to the counselor.

Or maybe she was just hungry to talk after so many years of keeping her innermost emotions tightly bottled up. The more sessions Kathryn had with Joan, the more she leaned toward this explanation. She could say anything to Joan, anything at all, and she had no fear that any of it would leave the room or complicate any relationships she had, professional or personal. It was a gift she had never been able to enjoy on Voyager, and now that they were home she intended to take full advantage of it.

"It's just..." Kathryn lifted her hands helplessly. "I never thought I would be in this position. I assumed my future with Mark was long out of reach. I didn't think I would have to _choose_..." She trailed off.

"So you have a hard choice to make," Joan said quietly. "When you're sitting in the captain's chair, how do you make hard decisions?"

Kathryn took a deep breath. "Well, I gather all the information I can, I look at the options, I ask for advice from people I trust, and then I take a leap of faith."

"It sounds like a good plan. Why don't you try that?" Joan asked.

"Because I don't have the information I need to make a good choice," Kathryn said. "I know what it _was_ like to be in a relationship with Mark, but he's undoubtedly changed in the last eight years, and who knows in what ways. As for Chakotay, I haven't ever really _been_ with him. I don't even know how it would work, or _if_ it would work..."

"Let me stop you there a moment," Joan said. "I need to ask you a question for the purposes of clarification." She scrutinized Kathryn for a moment. "Kathryn, are you, or are you not, in a relationship with Chakotay right now?"

"I'm... I'm _not_. I never have been. Didn't I just say that?"

"You did, but the reason I ask is because you've said some things that appear to contradict that. The weekly dinners together, the flowers he brought you, confiding in each other things you didn't confide to anyone else, the late-night akoonah sessions... You must see that to an outsider that would look a great deal like a courtship."

"I know," Kathryn said. "But I was careful. There were certain lines we never crossed."

"Such as?"

"I may have been... emotionally compromised, to some degree," she admitted. "But I never let it become physical. I knew that if I did, even once, things would only escalate from there. I know myself. I can't do anything halfway, and I couldn't afford to get involved with someone to that degree, not when I had a job to do."

Joan leaned forward and clasped her hands over her knee. "So, to be clear: you know what it's like to be emotionally involved with both men. The only difference is that you put some artificial barriers in place during your time with Chakotay."

"I suppose, when you put it that way... Yes."

"And that isn't enough information to make a choice?"

" _No_. I love both of them. And I always will. And what's worse-" Kathryn scrubbed her face with her hands. "They're both in pain right now. They both need me. And I feel obligated to be there for both of them. I owe it to them."

"Owe it to them?" Joan frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Mark was the one who put me back together again when my first fiance was killed. He was so patient with me... for _years_. And then just as we hit our stride, I ended up in the Delta Quadrant, and he waited for me even longer. It feels like he's spent half his life waiting for me. To reject him now, it would feel... very ungrateful."

"And Chakotay?"

"He spent all those Delta Quadrant years looking after my well-being, and got very little from me in return." Kathryn stared at the gray curtain of rain falling outside the window. "He lost half his family and most of his friends in the war, and now he's in very real danger of losing his freedom, and if I desert him now, he'll have practically nothing left. And he was ready to let himself be assimilated by the Borg for my sake, Joan. After that... I don't know how I could look him in the eyes and tell him it's over before it even really started."

"Do you think either of them would want you to choose him out of a sense of obligation?"

Kathryn was silent for a moment. "I suppose not."

"Let's try a little thought experiment," Joan said. "Suppose we set aside, for the moment, the question of who owes what to whom. And since we've already established that you love both of them, we'll set that aside as well. Now. Which one do you want?"

Kathryn stared at her for a long moment. "I don't understand."

"If you had only your own feelings to consider, which one would you want more?"

"I don't understand," Kathryn repeated. "I can't choose that way because I _don't_ have only my feelings to consider. I have theirs to consider, too."

"It's just a thought experiment, Kathryn. I'm not asking you to make the real choice right now. Just tell me, all other things being equal, what you want."

Kathryn was speechless. Finally, she said, "What I _want_? I can't even begin to answer that. I have no idea what I want. That's why I'm talking to you."

Joan pursed her lips. "Kathryn, I know we haven't known each other for very long, but when I look at your service record, the picture I get is of a woman who knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it. Making decisions, especially difficult ones, is what you do best. Can you explain to me why this particular question is a sticking point for you? When I asked you just now what you wanted, I could actually see you tense up."

Kathryn thought about that for a bit. "It's just... I can't remember the last time someone asked me that."

She expected Joan to ask more questions, but the counselor just sat back and waited. The only sound that could be heard for several minutes was rain lashing against the window.

Finally, Kathryn stirred. "You know," she said slowly, "there were a lot of things I wanted while I was in the Delta Quadrant. Not just a relationship, but other things. Things I couldn't get, like talking to my family, or relaxing with friends, or even something as simple as a vacation. I would try to take shore leave, and half the time I got called back for some emergency-" She broke off, and shook her head, not wanting to get sidetracked into that issue again. "It was so... _uncomfortable_ to want things, and not be able to get them, that I taught myself to stop thinking about the things I wanted. The moment a desire popped into my head, I learned to throw it right back out. That way I couldn't be disappointed. Joan... I haven't really allowed myself to think about what I wanted for years. I think I've forgotten how."

Joan waited a little longer, to be sure she was done, and then she rose, walked over to her desk, and pulled out a PADD. She came and sat back down, and tapped the controls for a minute. Finally, she handed the PADD to Kathryn.

"Read that, please," she said.

Kathryn looked at the PADD. The screen displayed three questions.

 _What do you want?_

 _Did you act on that desire?_

 _Why or why not?_

"I want you to carry this PADD with you at all times for the next several weeks," Joan said. "The moment a desire pops into your head - anything at all, big or small - I want you to record it."

Kathryn read over the questions again. "This is your way of getting me to release my inhibitions, isn't it?" she asked wryly.

"Not at all," Joan said firmly. "Inhibitions are important for our well-being. They often prevent us from making reckless choices. But in your case, you've learned to suppress your desires to an unhealthy degree. Now it's preventing you from making a choice that needs to be made. The purpose of this exercise is to force you to think about _why_ you're resisting your desires, and whether or not that reason is a valid one."

* * *

Lieutenant Chrissie Talbot was waiting for her in the lobby, with a mug of hot coffee in one hand and several PADDs in the other.

"Good morning, Captain," she said with a bright smile, handing Kathryn the coffee.

"Good morning."

This time, Chrissie wisely waited until Kathryn had taken a sip of coffee before she unleashed her barrage of updates as they walked to the briefing room. Apparently her assistant had learned her lesson from the morning before.

"Here's the updated briefing schedule," she said, handing Kathryn the PADD. "Admiral Hayes moved the discussion of the Kazon-Nistrim to Thursday so you can spend several hours Wednesday morning orienting a panel of admirals regarding a Level 10 classified issue. He said you would know what he meant."

Kathryn quickly nodded. Hayes had warned her yesterday to begin reviewing her encrypted logs regarding the Omega Directive, so there were no surprises there.

"Here are your ship's logs regarding today's debriefing," Chrissie continued. "And there's been a change in your schedule tomorrow. James Carver had to cancel the early morning game of Velocity, so I got Heather Grant to fill in."

"About that," Kathryn said quickly. "07:00 is really not the ideal time for exercise for me. I'm not exactly a morning person."

"I can try to adjust the schedule, Captain, but I'm not sure where else to put the exercise hour," Chrissie admitted. "The admiralty is packing your entire day with meetings, with a lunch break only long enough to eat. And this is even with me doubling up on appointments by combining the exercise hour with the friends you wanted to reconnect with anyway."

"Can't we just skip the Velocity, and I'll eat breakfast with them instead?"

"It's your schedule, Captain," Chrissie said deferentially. Kathryn's heart leapt momentarily, but Chrissie crushed it a moment later by adding cautiously, "but both Joan and the Doctor have been on my case since the moment I was assigned to you about making sure you sleep and eat and exercise regularly. Yesterday I couldn't get Dr. Zimmerman off the com for half an hour, he was so insistent on it. He kept saying I should have started working on it eight years ago."

Kathryn sighed heavily. "Fine. 07:00 Velocity it is."

As they approached the briefing room, she noticed Tom and Chakotay at the end of the hall, heads close together, talking quietly. It struck her as a little odd; those two usually didn't have much to say to each other outside of work. Chakotay and B'Elanna, on the other hand, often did, but B'Elanna wasn't with them. It turned out she was already in the briefing room, sitting alone at the far end of the table from the Doctor and Tuvok.

Kathryn and Chrissie took their seats, and a few moments later Tom and Chakotay came in and sat down too. Unlike yesterday morning, everyone was quiet as they waited for the debriefing to start. The only sound was the faint beeps of the PADD Dr. Zimmerman was scrutinizing.

That is, until Harry Kim bounded through the door.

"Good morning, everyone!" Harry said cheerfully. "Have you seen the rain out there? It's a beautiful day for sitting around and talking about the Sikarians for hours on end." He rubbed his hands together with relish. "I for one have been looking forward to this debriefing since the moment we got home."

Although she couldn't manage to share Harry's mood, Kathryn forced herself to smile a little at his good-natured sarcasm.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Kim," Chrissie said as Harry sat down next to her.

Harry smiled at her, and then looked around to be sure who was in the room before saying in a conspiratorial tone: "Listen everyone, I've been thinking. You know the tactics we came up with for those days when Chell couldn't stop chattering when everyone else was trying to get some work done? Maybe we need to coordinate something like that for when Admiral Hayes gets sidetracked."

Kathryn was already beginning to regret telling the senior staff in an unguarded moment that she thought of Hayes as a bit of a windbag. Hayes was a great officer and she liked him a lot, but he did tend to rattle on. Thank goodness Joan and Dr. Zimmerman had relayed their strict instructions to Hayes about the number of hours Kathryn was allowed to work daily, or who knows how long he would have kept them at it during yesterday's debriefing. Still, she shouldn't have spoken ill of a superior officer to subordinates. Clearly, it had given Harry the wrong kind of encouragement.

"So what do you think?" Harry asked, looking around the table. "The good old coordinated-intervention maneuver? Maybe three of us ganging up on him at once to redirect the conversation? Or does the situation call for something a little more drastic?"

Usually Tom would be the first to riff off an opening like that, but he was uncharacteristically silent. So was B'Elanna, sitting next to him. In fact, they were both wearing almost grim expressions, not looking at anyone else or even each other, just staring down at the table. Maybe they had had a rough night with the baby and were fighting exhaustion.

Kathryn knew how they felt. Despite being on her third cup of coffee, her body felt weak and her brain sluggish. What she wouldn't give to be able to go back home right now and collapse on the couch and have a good sleep, and then take all the time she needed to cope with The Mark Problem before she had to go back to work. Why on earth had he chosen to drop this on her now, and not two weeks ago when she had the leisure to handle personal problems!

No one else was responding to Harry, either. Chakotay was staring out the rain-lashed window and did not even appear to be hearing the conversation. The Doctor was frowning down at his PADD, tapping the scroll button over and over again so quickly that it did not seem he could actually be reading it. Tuvok was looking at Kathryn herself with an inscrutable expression in his dark eyes. Suddenly she realized how distant Tuvok had seemed since they had come back from vacation. Not just in the usual above-the-fray Vulcan way, but almost as though he were here in body and not spirit. Only Chrissie was looking at Harry, and she knew nothing about Chell and had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

Suddenly Kathryn realized someone was missing. She stirred, and forced herself to speak.

"Where's Neelix?" she asked.

The Doctor glanced up from his PADD for the first time. "He's staying home today. He caught a cold."

Harry laughed. "A cold? Are you sure he wasn't just sloughing the meeting to go surfing?" he quipped.

"It's no laughing matter, Mr. Kim," the Doctor said. "Mr. Neelix is developing pneumonia in his lung as a result of the infection. I told him he needed to rest, doctor's orders."

"He's had a Terran cold before," Kathryn said, frowning. "It's never affected him like that."

"The virus mutated on Earth while we were gone, of course. This year's strain happens to be particularly hard on the Talaxian immune system. And Ocampan lungs."

"We should send him a card or something," Harry said.

"I can replicate one during the lunch break and pass it around this afternoon," Chrissie jumped in. "All of you know him better than I do... would he like one that says something funny? Or touching? Or maybe one with poetry?"

No one spoke up.

"I think maybe something funny," Harry said at last. "Or... well, I don't know. He does like limericks, doesn't he? Or am I thinking of Baxter?"

Kathryn couldn't remember, and she was too tired to try. Nobody else said anything, either.

Harry was looking around the table at everyone with a confused expression. A hesitant smile spread across his face.

"All right, what is going on that I don't know about?" he asked. "Did somebody die or something?"

"As a matter of fact, somebody did," the Doctor said in acerbic tones. "I lost two patients during the night."

"Oh," Harry said, smile fading somewhat. "Some of the recovering drones?"

The Doctor nodded. "Seven had been making particularly good progress with one of them." Then he added quietly: "She was devastated."

"Sorry, Doc, I didn't know," Harry said.

There was a short pause.

"Well, what's the matter with the rest of you?" Harry pressed on. "Are we all sorry we came home or something?"

He clearly meant it as a joke, but nobody around the room smiled back.

"Hey, Harry," Tom said loudly, speaking up for the first time.

"What?"

"Do us all a favor and shut up."

Harry's cheeks reddened as quickly as if he'd been slapped, while B'Elanna jumped to her feet and hurried out of the room without a word or so much as a glance at anyone.

"Ah, now you've done it!" Tom snapped at Harry. He, too, stood so fast that his chair hit the wall, and he followed B'Elanna out of the room at a jog.

"What...?" Harry mumbled, looking stupefied. Kathryn was every bit as confused as he was. So was Dr. Zimmerman, it looked like. Tuvok was barely concealing his disapproval of the outburst. She could just imagine the things he was thinking about humans and their emotional ways.

Kathryn looked over at Chakotay to weigh his reaction. She had just remembered Chakotay's quiet conversation with Tom in the hallway, and it occurred to her that he might know something she didn't.

"What's the matter with B'Elanna?" she asked.

Chakotay was silent for a long moment. The rest of the senior staff looked at him expectantly.

"That's her business, and her business alone," he said shortly.

He turned slightly away from Kathryn in a clear dismissal.

Kathryn was stung by his abruptness, but no one got to pursue the topic any further, because just then Admiral Hayes walked in and the debriefing started. Tom and B'Elanna walked in a few minutes late and offered no explanation as they sat down, but Hayes just carried on with the meeting without comment.

It was one of the longest mornings Kathryn could remember. They had to sit there and go over the incident regarding the Sikarians and their spatial trajector, which the crew of Voyager had tried to gain permission to use to speed their journey home. It was an awkward topic even during the best of times, given that both B'Elanna and Tuvok had defied Kathryn's orders and the Sikarians' wishes by attempting to adapt the technology to Starfleet systems.

Hayes was stern and thorough in seeking to establish exactly what had happened and why. Kathryn was in an agony of discomfort during the entire line of questioning, knowing full well how bad this would look for B'Elanna, who was already seen as a war criminal and would now look like a disloyal officer to boot. And there was nothing Kathryn could do to help. She remembered well how angry she had been when she found out what had taken place. And Tuvok! Even _he_ had betrayed her that day, a shocking turn of events that to this day she didn't fully understand.

Tuvok was relentlessly patient and logical in answering Hayes' questions. But B'Elanna was defensive, abrupt in her answers, almost to the point of rudeness. Chakotay inserted himself into the conversation more than once, although he hadn't been involved himself, and Kathryn could see his protective instincts flaring up as he tried to soften B'Elanna's responses. She could also see that at times he was barely in control of his own emotions. Seska had also been involved in the incident, and Kathryn knew the mention of her name never failed to put Chakotay's hackles up.

She carefully pulled out the PADD Joan had given her, trying not to draw attention to herself, and quickly filled out one of the forms.

 _What do you want?_

I want to take away his pain.

 _Did you act on that desire?_

No.

 _Why or why not?_

I'm not sure it's in my power.

Quietly, she locked the file and slipped the PADD back in her bag.

It was a relief when Hayes finally called a break. Everyone went their separate ways for lunch: Tuvok picking up a box lunch and then sitting at a far table in the dining area with body language that did not invite anyone to join him; Chakotay striding outside and across the rainy grounds, not even going in the direction of any nearby cafeterias; the Doctor to a comstation across the lobby; and Tom and B'Elanna to the turbolift that led to the child care facility downstairs. Harry gave one long angry look at Tom's back as the helmsman retreated with his arm around B'Elanna's shoulders, and then Chrissie pulled at Harry's sleeve and the two of them went off to sit at a table alone.

With a sigh, Kathryn headed for the turbolifts as well and rode one up to the private dining area for senior officers. She found a Betazoid woman already there waiting for her: Tela Ambrun, campaign manager for Federation Councilman Elling Pope, one of several candidates for the upcoming election for the President of the United Federation of Planets.

She had been dreading this appointment all day, and it turned out to be exactly what she had suspected when the Councilman's office had first called Chrissie to request a meeting. As they ate their lunch, Tela rattled off a smooth, well-rehearsed case for why Pope was exactly what the Federation needed at this time, and laid out his positions on the crucial issues, and listed everything he had already accomplished on the Council, and then finally came to the point: an endorsement from Captain Janeway would be ideal to get the Councilman the momentum he needed to win the election.

As diplomatically as possible, Kathryn explained that she had only been home long enough to learn that the aftermath of the Dominion War was the defining issue of the upcoming election.

"Given that I hadn't even heard of the Dominion three weeks ago," she pointed out, "I don't consider myself educated enough to know who I intend to vote for myself, much less tell anyone else how they should vote."

"In that case," Tela said eagerly, "I would be happy to arrange a meeting with Councilman Pope for you. You can judge for yourself what sort of a man he is. I think you'll like him. He's very impressed with everything he's heard about you and Voyager's mission. The Councilman wants to see Starfleet return to its roots as an exploratory organization, and the information and technology you brought back from the Delta Quadrant is the perfect illustration of the power in that approach. It would mean a great deal to him to have your support. "

Kathryn suppressed her impatience. "I appreciate your consideration of me, and I certainly share the Councilman's wish to ensure Starfleet never becomes a purely military force," she said. "But please understand: I've never gotten involved in politics for a reason. I don't have any interest in putting myself forward as an opinion leader. I joined Starfleet because I loved science, and because I was curious and I wanted to explore the galaxy. It was merely an accident of fate that led to my name being splashed across the Alpha Quadrant, and it probably won't last for long."

"But you already _are_ an opinion leader," Tela said earnestly, "whether you want to be or not. You have everyone in the Federation talking about what you accomplished in the Delta Quadrant. You've revived the old Maquis debate. You've given hope that we may continue to resist the Borg. And there are many, including Councilman Pope, who believe that one or more of the new travel techniques you encountered in the Delta Quadrant will be at least as useful to the Federation as any new weapons we might develop to protect ourselves from threats."

Tela leaned forward. "Look, I appreciate your reluctance to put yourself out there, Captain, but consider this: you are in a position to make a real difference in this quadrant, right here, right now. Not many people can say that. And time is short. There are only a few more months until the election."

Kathryn tried her best to continue to demur, but Tela was tenacious, if polite, and by the end of the meeting, Kathryn got the feeling that she was not going to take no for an answer. She shook Kathryn's hand and left, promising to speak to her again soon.

When she had gone, Kathryn ordered herself coffee and remained alone at the table to sip it slowly and try to recover her equilibrium. She found that her mood was as black as the coffee. It felt as though all the good her two weeks of vacation had done had been unraveled in two days. Worst of all, this was far from over: Chrissie had told her that representatives from two other candidates had also requested meetings with her already.

The afternoon debriefing didn't go any better than the morning session had. Kathryn longed for it to be over, but then again, the thought of her dinner appointment was every bit as stressful as her lunch appointment had been. She did want to get reacquainted with Mark again, and yet she feared this wouldn't be like their pleasant times together from the past. Mark was in pain, and she didn't know how to help him, or if she even could. But she did know that she had a duty to try.

When at last they were dismissed for the day, she managed to catch Chakotay before he disappeared.

"Listen, about our dinner tonight-" she began.

"I can't make it," he interrupted.

"You... can't make it?" she repeated, caught off guard.

"Something came up."

She waited, but no more information was forthcoming. She found that she was relieved that she didn't have to explain to him what she was doing tonight, since she knew she couldn't have lied to him about it if he had asked, but something about Chakotay's manner was... off. She couldn't put a finger on what it was, but he had not been himself all day.

"All right," she said carefully. "Well, should we try again sometime next week? I'm afraid all my other evenings this week are full-"

"We can try," Chakotay said. "But my schedule's pretty full, too."

Given his earlier concerns about having no friends left to fill his time, this statement was bizarre.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"Everything's fine. I have an attorney to meet with. I have a case to build so I don't end up in a penal colony. I have a lot on my plate."

He wasn't looking at her, but was rather scowling down at his boots.

Kathryn paused uncertainly, and then asked, "How can I help?"

He glanced up. "You can't."

She found that she had no response to this. Chakotay nodded to her curtly. "Have a nice evening, Captain." He left without waiting for her to say anything further.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **A/N:** As always, feedback welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's note:** It's been a long time since I posted. OK, a really long time! Thank you for your patience. I knew I had gotten off track on my last few chapters, and then I had so much going on IRL this last year that I wasn't able to tackle a rewrite for quite a while. Anyway, I have deleted two chapters and will now begin posting the new ones, which are hopefully an improvement over what I had. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Chakotay draped a towel around his neck and left the locker room. Out in the spacious gym, Starfleet officers of every size, shape and species were working out on various exercise machines. It was crowded this time of day; apparently everyone had gotten the same idea he had, to get in a little workout after a day full of meetings before going home to dinner. Chakotay headed past a row of stationary bikes, turned the corner and walked into the weight room, where he did some warm-up stretching.

"Commander Chakotay?"

Chakotay looked around until he saw a face he recognized: Lieutenant Walter Baxter was standing nearby, dressed in gray shorts and a tank top, doing biceps curls and looking at him curiously.

"I haven't seen you in here before, sir," Baxter said.

"No, I haven't worked out since we got home," Chakotay was embarrassed to admit. He had no doubt Baxter had been here every day. The man was a workout nut and had practically haunted Voyager's gym during the Delta Quadrant years. Chakotay had spent many an afternoon lifting with Baxter on his days off.

Thankfully, Baxter refrained from telling Chakotay what he already knew about losing muscle mass due to irregular workouts.

"What station are you heading for?" Baxter asked.

"Bench press."

"I was going to do that next. Want to spot each other?"

They immediately fell into their familiar routine. First Baxter did bench presses, while Chakotay spotted him. They didn't speak much. Baxter was lifting more weight than he really should, as usual, and the only sounds he made were gasps and grunts as he struggled to keep his form. Chakotay was used to this, knowing full well that Baxter would ignore any hints to lighten his load, so he didn't let his attention waver for a moment, lest Baxter miss a rep and hurt himself.

Then it was Chakotay's turn to lift. He took a few weights off the bar before lying down on the bench. Unlike Baxter, he was looking to build up muscle, not rack up injuries.

Up, down, up, down. Chakotay's arms were a little shaky at first, but it got better as he went on. Up, down, up, down. Now his chest started to burn. Behind him, Baxter was quiet, probably still catching his breath. The only sounds were the clang of barbells and the jokes and laughter of two men who were lifting nearby. Just as Chakotay was lifting the bar up, he heard one of the men call the other "Roberto." Suddenly the bar in Chakotay's hands wobbled, and Baxter quickly reached out and steadied it, and then helped him set the bar on the rack.

"Too much?" Baxter asked. "I can take a little more off."

"No, it's fine," Chakotay said, but his heart was racing as though he had just run a marathon.

It wasn't the weight. It was the name. _Roberto._ This morning Chakotay had managed to steel himself to read another page of Sveta's letter, the one he'd been foolish enough to ask for. The one that detailed the fates of the Maquis he had known the best. He was afraid to know… and yet he had to know.

 _Roberto went back to help Sahreen and K'Tarra disable the Jem'Hadar transport inhibitors. They must have succeeded, because the rest of us were able to transport back to the ship. We tried to contact the three of them, but they didn't answer. We waited as long as we could, but when more Jem'Hadar ships arrived, we had no choice but to leave them behind._

 _We went back as soon as we dared, hoping against hope that they had managed to hide or escape. We found all three of them in the caves. They'd been shot by Jem'Hadar plasma weapons. Sahreen and K'Tarra were killed instantly. I wish I could say Roberto was as well, but he had only taken a glancing blow. You probably don't know this, but the Jem'Hadar incorporate anticoagulants into their weapons. His wound shouldn't have been lethal, but he bled out before we got to him._

"You OK?" Baxter asked.

Chakotay cleared his throat gruffly. "Shouldn't have gone so long without working out."

"I can take a little weight off-"

"No. I'm ready to go again."

Up, down, up, down. Chakotay's arms were shaking again, but he forced himself to push through the pain. It would be easier if he could just concentrate on what he was doing, but he kept seeing their faces flash in front of his eyes. Sahreen. K'Tarra. Roberto. And then there were Meyer and Nelson and all their crew, who Sveta said had been attempting to flee the Badlands when the Jem'Hadar vaporized their ship.

Chakotay was frustrated by his inability to bottle up his grief... and his anger. He'd held it in all day during the debriefing; why couldn't he shake the images now? He could feel the sweat pouring down his face, and hoped Baxter would chalk it up to him being out of shape, and not to the fact that he couldn't control his emotions over people who had died years ago, their memorial services long over, their names and faces already forgotten by all but their families and closest friends.

 _His wound shouldn't have been lethal, but he bled out before we got to him._

Chakotay racked the bar and sat up, panting for breath. Baxter handed him a towel and he gratefully used it to dry his face. He glanced over at the mirror on the wall, and then slowly rubbed the towel over his tattoo again.

Roberto had helped Chakotay procure the Val Jean just days after the tattoo had been carved into his face, when his skin was still red and inflamed. It had been a painful process, getting tattooed - and that night the knowledge that the next day he would be resigning from Starfleet had nearly staggered him - but Chakotay clearly remembered that the primary emotion he felt as he sat cross-legged in the sweltering heat of the temazcal, enduring the scrape of needle against flesh, was not pain or fear, but exhilaration. Maybe he was doing the right thing, and maybe he wasn't, but at least he was doing _something_. At least his father's murder would be answered by more than impotent grief.

... _he bled out before we got to him._

If only he could go and get another tattoo now. If only he could swear some kind of vendetta against those who had committed this fresh atrocity. Scrape up the funds to get his own ship, as he had done before, and go out and force the universe to deliver justice.

But he couldn't. He wasn't even free to leave the planet, thanks to Admiral Nelson.

"Want to do leg lifts now?" Baxter asked.

Chakotay swallowed painfully. He hadn't been working out very long, but he knew he was done for the day. "No. I need to get going. I have to meet someone tonight, and I better get cleaned up first."

Baxter looked intrigued, and was bold enough to ask: "Got a date?"

"No," Chakotay replied, draping his towel around his shoulders. "Just a friend." Baxter looked disappointed on his behalf, but he wished Chakotay a good night and then wandered over to another station.

Chakotay went into the showers and decided to allow himself the luxury of a real water shower. When his soap-slicked hand slipped across the rough line etched across his ribs, he allowed himself a moment of fierce pride that he had kept the old scar. It was a guarantee that he would never forget one of the few times in which he had actually come off the victor against the Cardassians.

Despite cutting his workout short, he wasted so much time in the shower that he ended up needing to rush getting dressed. Despite his annoyance at having last Tuesday night's dinner with Kathryn canceled, he was dreading being alone with her tonight. Suppose Kathryn chose this moment to tell him that she was going back to Mark? In his current state of mind he couldn't imagine reacting to such a development with any kind of grace or dignity.

* * *

It was the first time Chakotay had been to Kathryn's apartment at Headquarters. It was several levels up from the ground, and the turbolift deposited Chakotay into an open-air courtyard in the center of the level, lined with doors leading into many apartments. He walked around, reading the nameplates, until he found Kathryn's.

The first surprise came when Kathryn came to door, dressed not in her uniform but in civilian clothing: a lavender short-sleeved shirt with a draped collar, and silky slacks to match. She looked at Chakotay for a long moment with a small smile on her face and then said: "Either I'm underdressed, or you're overdressed."

"We always used to wear our uniforms," Chakotay said.

Her smile faded thoughtfully as she stepped aside to let Chakotay in. "I suppose we did. Funny, I didn't even think twice about changing. I must be in the habit now; I never wear my uniform in Indiana."

He looked around the apartment without really seeing it. "Spending a lot of time in Indiana, then?"

"I think I told you I planned to spend my weekends there."

To see her family? Chakotay wondered. Or to see Mark? But he had resolved that morning not to go fishing for information. To help him resist the temptation, he changed the subject, and made an effort to sound lighthearted. "So, what's on the menu tonight?"

"In the mood for anything in particular?" she asked, briskly walking over to the replicator. "I'm happy to announce that this glorified toaster hasn't learned to hate me, at least not yet, so we should be able to coax something edible out of it." She patted it affectionately.

Chakotay followed her slowly. "Whatever you want," he said.

Kathryn gave him a too-knowing look. "Not hungry?" she asked.

"Not really." He hadn't been able to eat much all day, thinking of the way Roberto had died: slowly, alone, in pain. Chakotay's stomach was aching with emptiness, but the thought of eating made him feel ill.

"Let's just sit and talk then," she said, turning around and leading him over to the couch under the window. Outside, the sun was obscured behind a bank of clouds, but at least it wasn't raining today.

Talking didn't sound any better than eating at the moment. Chakotay sat down next to Kathryn, but already he regretted coming. He should have listened to his instincts and cancelled. Their dinners were supposed to be a refuge from the world, and tonight he had brought the darkness in with him.

Kathryn started talking about the debriefings, and dutifully Chakotay tried to play along, but the topic didn't really hold his interest. The conversation waned. Chakotay knew he wasn't holding up his end of it, but he couldn't seem to muster the energy required to think of something interesting to say.

He suspected he must have been boring Kathryn, because after this had gone on for a while, she excused herself for a moment and left the room. He could hear in the distance a few beeps from a PADD, and then a minute later she came back to the couch holding a bottle of lotion and sat down next to him again.

Kathryn rubbed a generous amount of lotion on her hands. It smelled good, like almond, maybe. He thought that he had smelled that scent on her recently. Then she looked at him and held her hand out expectantly.

"Let me see your hand," she said.

He stared at her blankly.

"I'm not going to bite it. Let me see your hand."

Reluctantly, he gave Kathryn his hand. She took his hand between hers and slowly rubbed lotion all over it, front and back. Then she laid his hand palm up on her knee and started to slide her thumbs up and down his palm, using firm but steady pressure.

It felt so good it almost hurt, and he didn't want her to stop. And yet it felt very strange to be letting her do this when he was upset, not only about the fallen Maquis but also in part because of her, after the canceled dinner last week and her silence on the topic of Mark. Not to mention, he had no idea why she was suddenly breaking their long-unspoken rule of no massages, which had been standing between them ever since New Earth.

"Nice, isn't it?" Kathryn said. "Joan taught my mom how to do this for me when I'm stressed out. It's amazing how much it relaxes you."

That was the understatement of the century. Chakotay was having a bizarre urge to lay down on the couch and close his eyes and let her keep on stroking his hands until he drifted off to the peaceful oblivion of sleep. He was dismayed at the suddenness of his wish. Apparently it had been much too long since anyone had touched him with this kind of gentleness. Not unless you counted those bikini-clad girls in Voyager's Hawaiian resort simulation who Neelix had programmed to offer shoulder rubs to everyone they passed. But holographic hands never felt quite as good as the real thing.

Seska. Seska had been really good at massages. She hadn't offered them often, though. Usually just when she wanted something from him, and was hoping to soften him up before she asked. It had taken him a while to catch onto that. He had wanted so much to believe that whenever she showed affection, it was motivated by kindness and love. Seska really hadn't been that good of a liar, Chakotay reflected. Truth be told, he had done most of the fooling to himself. There are none so blind as those who don't wish to see.

He wished he hadn't thought of Seska. Chakotay could practically feel his blood pressure rising, and he had a nearly uncontrollable urge to tear himself away from Kathryn's grasp, to stand up and demand that she admit to him why she was doing this, and what she _really_ wanted from him.

"You are really tense," Kathryn said. She rubbed small circles near the base of his thumb.

Chakotay closed his eyes briefly, suspicion making way for guilt. He had been sulking for days over losing his old monopoly on Kathryn's time, and now here he was, comparing her to Seska just because she finally paid him a little bit of the attention he wanted? No. Kathryn was nothing like Seska. She wasn't capable of being so cold and calculating. He hated himself for even thinking it.

"Rough day?" Kathryn asked.

"Rough week." He laughed humorlessly. "Rough month."

She looked at him regretfully. "I think I owe you an apology. I feel like I haven't been there for you this week. Not the way I wanted to be. I'm sorry that I wasn't."

"I know you've been busy," he said quietly. "Tuvok mentioned all the families you've been visiting in the evenings. For the crew members you lost on the crossing. That can't have been easy."

"Not exactly," she said. "But you have been very much on my mind. Do you want to talk about it?"

Chakotay hesitated. He did, and he didn't. A part of him wanted her to know everything he was thinking and feeling, but he didn't want her pity, and he was afraid that was all she had to offer him now.

But still her warm fingers were stroking up and down his hand oh-so-gently, and the sensations were so comforting that it was too difficult to push her away completely, no matter how much his pride wanted him to.

"I knew some things would change when we got home," Chakotay said slowly, "but I feel like the rug has been pulled out from under my feet. Everything has changed, even the things I wanted to stay the same. I don't know anymore what the future has in store for me. I'm not sorry we came home, but I'm feeling a little lost. There are days when I wish we had just stayed in the Delta Quadrant. It wasn't exactly a picnic there, but at least things were simpler."

"What does your animal guide think of all this?"

He was silent for a long moment.

"You don't have to tell me," Kathryn added quickly. "I just meant... I hope your animal guide is helping you find some clarity. Some peace."

Another silence stretched out.

"I haven't gone on a vision quest since we came home," he admitted at last.

"Oh?"

"I haven't really felt like it."

She nodded slowly, and took his other hand and started massaging that one.

"Isn't it strange," he said after a long silence, "that the times in our lives when we most need help, are the times when we least want to ask for it?"

"I know what you mean," she said.

"Do you?" Chakotay asked. " _You've_ been accepting help. You've been seeing your counselor."

Kathryn grimaced slightly. "That's only because I learned my lesson the hard way. Twice."

"Twice?"

"You remember what I told you I did after my father and Justin were killed? I locked myself up in my mother's house for two months and stared at the walls and refused to let anyone try to help me. And then Phoebe got so angry that she literally dragged me out of the house and forced me to face things."

"Yes, I remember you telling me that."

"And then I tried to do the same thing again when we were stuck in the Void. Who knows how long it would have gone on, if the night aliens hadn't shown up and forced me to snap out of it."

"I hadn't realized..." Chakotay murmured, as understanding dawned at last. "I should have dragged you out the way Phoebe did. Shouldn't I have?"

"Maybe. The point I'm trying to make is, in both cases I didn't want help. I _wanted_ to feel miserable. I wanted to punish myself for all my perceived failings. The strangest part was, I thought I was being noble by taking all that weight on my own shoulders. But it wasn't heroism, it was pride. All I did was make things more difficult for the people around me who were worried about me."

"Am I making life difficult for you?"

"Of course not," she said quickly. "But I _want_ you to. I want you to impose on me. If you need anything, I want you to call me anytime, anywhere. In the middle of the night. When I'm in a meeting with some admiral. I don't care. Just don't... don't be like me. Don't shut people out."

They were quiet for several minutes as Kathryn continued to massage his hands gently.

"But maybe you don't need me to tell you all that," she added at last. "You've always been the sensible one."

Chakotay shook his head slightly. "Lately, I haven't been feeling very sensible."

* * *

After they finished dinner - Chakotay doing his best to choke down some nourishment, although the food tasted like ash in his mouth - they moved over to the couch, which commanded a view of the greenery of the courtyard outside. Although the evening was growing late, it was still light outside. Spring was transforming into summer, but Chakotay was blind to its beauty. He didn't want to ask Kathryn about Mark, but he had to know, and the sooner, the better.

"Tom said Mark came to San Francisco to see you last week," Chakotay said.

Kathryn frowned ever so slightly, and paused for a long moment.

"Yes," she said at last. "I was going to tell you about that. I saw him on Tuesday, and again over the weekend."

It had to be asked, so he asked it.

"How did that go?" he asked casually.

Kathryn took a long time to answer. "It was fine, I think. A little strange to see how he's changed. I know I've changed over the years, but somehow I expected that he would stay the same."

Chakotay valiantly strove for a sympathy he wasn't quite feeling. "I guess it was probably a rough time for him, too."

And there it was, a flash of worry across Kathryn's face, and the expression spoke volumes more than her words had. So she was worried about Mark.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Although…" She laughed humorlessly. "I'm not sure it's any better now that I'm back. He was just starting to get used to the idea that I was dead, and now…"

"What?" he prompted her, when it seemed she wasn't going to finish the sentence.

She stood up and paced to the middle of her living room, looking small and lost without her uniform. "And now…" She shook her head slightly. "He wants to get to know me again."

She briefly met his eyes with an almost pleading expression on her face.

 _He wants to get to know her again?_ Chakotay thought he knew what _that_ meant. It was what he had been fearing since he first saw Mark in San Francisco. But surely Kathryn wouldn't…? They had an agreement, the two of them. As soon as they got back home, everything was going to change. They had planned…

Chakotay stood up, too. Kathryn looked away from him, rubbing her hands slowly together. Chakotay began to feel sick. He had seen that look before, way back when Kathryn had been working through the thought process that led to her decision to destroy the Caretaker's Array out of an obligation to protect the Ocampa. It wasn't a good sign. It meant she was preparing to immolate herself on the flame of self-sacrifice.

"I don't know how to help Mark," Kathryn said slowly. "But I know I have to try."

Chakotay knew he was being contrary, but at the moment, he didn't care, and he wanted to shout it to the skies: Why did Kathryn _always_ have put someone else's needs above her own?

 _And above_ my _needs?_

"Of course you do," he said, because he knew she expected him to say it, and he even tried to make it sound reassuring so that she would know he wasn't upset. But all the time, the angry voice in the back of his head was urging him to tell her exactly how upset he _was_. But how could he? Who was he to demand that his needs came before anyone else's? He didn't own Kathryn's affections. She could do whatever she chose to do.

He took a careful breath. "Maybe it would help if you told me exactly what that means."

Kathryn looked confused.

Again, with every ounce of effort he could muster, Chakotay kept his voice even as he clarified. "Help Mark in what way?"

"I'm... not sure," Kathryn admitted.

"Because you and I have things we need to discuss," Chakotay said.

"And we will," Kathryn said quickly. "We will. But I'm not sure this is the time-"

"I waited for you," Chakotay said. "I told you I would, and I did."

He wasn't sure he should have pressed on with this topic, but Kathryn nodded quickly, looking almost relieved that he had brought it up. "I know," she said. "I waited for you, too."

Chakotay took a slow step toward her. "And now?"

"And now?" Kathryn glanced away, expression pained. "Now, there's been a… an unexpected development, I suppose."

It was like a haze settled down over his vision, dragging him earthward like a physical weight. Suddenly all the resolutions he had made to be measured and calm seemed to fly out the window.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked, words coming out oddly clipped.

Kathryn looked back at him, startled. "No!" she said, her voice quietly vehement. "No, nothing's changed for me. It isn't that. It's just that…"

"He wants you back," Chakotay said. It was a statement, not a guess.

Kathryn closed her eyes briefly. "There's only so much I can explain without betraying a confidence." Her expression turned pleading again. "I suppose what I'm asking for is… a little time. Just a little time. To get everything straightened out with Mark, before you and I settle things between us. Can I ask that?"

"I gave you time," Chakotay said. He hadn't meant to get angry with Kathryn herself, but against his better judgement, he found that he was. He knew damn well what was going to happen during this reprieve she was asking for. Mark was going to try to get her back, and what was worse, Kathryn was going to _let_ him try. And given how long Kathryn had held out for Mark back in the Delta Quadrant, Chakotay wasn't at all certain that Mark would be unsuccessful. "I gave you a lot of time."

Kathryn recoiled from him slightly. "I know you did. I was grateful… I _am_ grateful. I know what a sacrifice it was, and I'm not asking… or rather, I'm not _demanding_ anything more from you." Her voice deepened with emotion. "But I can't break off an engagement all in five minutes, without even taking the time to get reacquainted. Surely you can see that he and I are dealing with some very strange circumstances, and it isn't clear to me how I'm supposed to proceed. They don't exactly write etiquette guides for situations like this." The frustration was evident in her voice, and despite his anger Chakotay felt the old familiar protective instincts flare. Kathryn wasn't doing this to be cruel. He knew that. It didn't take away the sting, but he did know it.

Kathryn softened her tone. "Please try to understand. What else can I do? If the situation were reversed, I would do as much for you."

He knew that too. No one knew better than him just how far Kathryn Janeway was willing to go for someone she cared about. And even though it brought him pain, he would not have her be anything other than what she was.

He took in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "Give me a number, then," he said quietly.

"A number?" she repeated blankly.

"How much time do you need? Give me a number. Five days? Five weeks? Five months? I'd like to know what to expect, this time around."

Kathryn stared at him. "An exact number?" She seemed to flounder. "I…" She folded her arms across herself in a protective posture and looked away, eyes distant. Several minutes ticked by as Chakotay waited, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Kathryn turned back toward him, arms going down straight against her sides, slipping easily into her command posture.

"Three weeks," she said decisively.

"Three weeks," he repeated.

"I'll have an answer for you then," she said. "No matter what. In three weeks."

"Good." Chakotay found himself strangely relieved. He had been afraid she would drag it out much longer. Or even refuse to give him a timeline. So many of their arguments had ended with her as the victor that it was hard to believe that she was acquiescing to him for a change.

Hard to believe, but more than a little gratifying.

"I'm going home now," he said, eager to end the evening on a positive note, or as close to one as they were likely to get tonight. And he was tired. More tired than he had the words to explain. "I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow."

Kathryn nodded, and walked him to the door. "There's a debate tomorrow," she said as the door swished open. "About the Maquis."

"The Questor debate," Chakotay said. "I know."

"You're welcome to come, of course," she said. "But there will be journalists there-"

"-and I'm not supposed to talk to them," Chakotay finished. "Attorney's orders. I think it would be better if I just watched from home."

"All right," she said. "And Chakotay," she added quickly as he moved to leave, "I meant what I said. You can call me anytime, for any reason."

His eyes met hers briefly. "I know that, Kathryn. I'll see you tomorrow."

He walked away, and the door swished shut behind him.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's note:** This is an altered version of a chapter I'd posted before. Thank you to TrekDr, TheElephantinthePrideParade, Guest and RiverSong2u for your reviews for Chapter 7! I'm looking forward to posting all-new material next week._

 **Chapter 8**

Three weeks was a long time.

Chakotay hadn't thought so before, but the last week had crept by at the speed of an Alvanian cave sloth. He had attempted to fill the time with debriefings that were alternately boring and stressful, followed by too-quiet evenings at home, either alone at his apartment in San Francisco, trying to prepare for his upcoming trial, or at Sekaya's place in Huatabampo, fending off his sister's increasingly-less-subtle insinuations that he was insane for even thinking of reapplying for Starfleet, assuming he was still a free man a few months from now. None of it had succeeded in taking his mind off what he was really waiting for: an answer from Kathryn. Two more weeks to go.

For a change of pace, Chakotay had gone to see B'Elanna and Tom over the weekend, and they had confirmed that B'Elanna was now seeing a counselor after the incident in the holodeck. B'Elanna seemed resigned to getting the help she needed, but Chakotay could tell her heart wasn't really into it. Right now she was only going because Tom was there to make her. Chakotay had left that evening, feeling at least a little comforted that B'Elanna wasn't likely to get the chance to harm herself again, but more than a little disquieted that she didn't really seem to be on the road to recovery, either.

Chakotay hadn't seen Kathryn outside of the debriefings. She seemed tired and quieter than usual, but with her punishing schedule this week, it was no wonder. She and Tuvok had spent every night visiting the families of some of her original crewmembers, the ones Chakotay had never met because they had died on the crossing. It was as if all the old lines separating their crew had been redrawn. Kathryn was back with Tuvok as her loyal shadow, whereas B'Elanna had withdrawn from everyone but Chakotay and Tom. Starfleet and Maquis, all over again. Chakotay could not even remember seeing Tom and Harry interacting with each other this week. He wondered if Harry was still in the dark about B'Elanna's problem. He knew Kathryn was. It wasn't Chakotay's business to tell anyone, and Tom and B'Elanna seemed to want it kept quiet.

Now the day of the Questor debate had arrived, where Mark Johnson was slated to argue that the Maquis who had returned with Voyager deserved mercy.

Chakotay supposed he should feel grateful to the man for defending him in public, but when he and Sekaya and Atl settled down to watch the broadcast on his monitor that evening and Mark appeared on the screen, gratitude was not what Chakotay was feeling.

Oh, Mark Johnson argued convincingly, all right. From the moment he stood at the podium and started talking, the formality evident in his writings was nowhere to be seen. He spoke warmly, with a clear voice and a simple rhythm to his words, and a slightly dry sense of humor that neither seemed to try too hard or ever fall flat. He was, in short, a pleasure to listen to. Chakotay found himself getting annoyed, against his will, whenever Mark's opponent tried to cut in to make a point. Even Sekaya and Atl began to talk to the screen to object to the interruptions on Mark's behalf, although not two minutes before the broadcast had begun, they had been complaining that Questor should have brought in a colonist to argue their side, rather than some academic who had lived his entire life on Earth.

As a man of war, Chakotay knew a thing or two about battle tactics, but within 30 minutes, it was clear that what Mark excelled in was verbal warfare. The man was laying down one rhetorical trap after another, and his opponent kept walking right into them. Soon his opponent was floundering, on the defensive, and Seyaka and Atl were openly smug about how the debate was shaping up.

Somehow, Chakotay had always pictured Mark as a quiet man, maybe even an introvert, someone calm enough to counteract Kathryn's forceful personality. At least that was the impression Kathryn had always left him with. But the man who was debating now did not seem to have a timid bone in his body.

At last, the debate ended and the opponents shook hands, but it wasn't over yet. The cameras lingered after the event to broadcast an impromptu post-debate interview with Mark... joined by Kathryn herself, of course. The journalists were clearly eager to get quotes from Voyager's captain on the topic, and Kathryn and Mark stood side by side in the bright lights, surrounded by cameras, answering rapid-fire questions with aplomb.

Kathryn would begin to answer the question, and with the smoothest of transitions Mark would pick up the thread, reinforce everything Kathryn had said, and give it a rhetorical flourish to end on. They even finished each other's sentences a few times. It was done so smoothly that Chakotay briefly wondered if it had been rehearsed, but he quickly rejected the notion. Kathryn did much better in such situations when she flew by the seat of her pants. It was just that Mark and Kathryn knew each other so well that they could anticipate each other's thoughts. Even after years apart, they fit together like a hand in a glove.

* * *

When the interview had ended, Sekaya and Atl left Chakotay's room to get ready to spend the evening in the village. Chakotay went outside, ostensibly to get his tools and work on the teak tree in the backyard, but he ended up just sitting on a sawn log ring, thinking.

They had now been home an entire month, and the uncertainty around his relationship with Kathryn had still not been resolved. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined it would not be settled, one way or the other, the moment they got back. He was doing his best to be patient during the three weeks they had agreed on, but in his worst moments he could not help but re-evaluate everything he thought he had understood about his relationship with Kathryn.

He had believed, at least since the Equinox incident, that it had been based on mutual desire. Now he was starting to wonder if it had been more about _needing_ than wanting. Kathryn had been alone. No family, no friends that weren't also subordinates, no counselor, no support from superior officers. And so, after a few years of holding herself aloft from the crew as captains usually did, Kathryn had begun to permit Chakotay to draw her into a more personal relationship. She had let him play at being her counselor, and then at being her friend.

At first he had done these things out of a natural impulse. As First Officer, it was his job to see to the captain's needs, and as a human being, he had taken pleasure in giving her a few moments, here and there, where she was free to be Kathryn and not captain. It was plain to see what a relief it was for her to use him as an outlet for blowing off steam.

And so Kathryn had used him. Chakotay had let her use him. And what's more, he had been happy to be used.

What did Kathryn need him for now? She had a counselor, a real one with real qualifications. She had more friends on Earth than she knew what to do with. She had family, who clearly loved her very much. Chakotay thought of Gretchen's mother-love, and of Phoebe brushing Kathryn's hair with as much tenderness as a sister could show, despite her abrasive personality.

And now, Kathryn might even have love once again. What did she need Chakotay for?

This uncomfortable line of thought led him to New Earth, when he had come as close as he dared to telling her that he was beginning to love her. Kathryn had surprised him by being more receptive to the idea than he had anticipated. He had wondered if maybe she had felt the same way all along, but had simply done a better job than him at hiding it.

How could he have failed to notice the truth? At that time he was literally the last man on Earth.

What if she hadn't wanted him? What if she had merely _needed_ him?

"Enough," Sekaya said.

Chakotay looked up. Sekaya was standing next to him, dressed nicely with her hair freshly braided, while Atl hovered several steps behind her, looking slightly worried.

"Enough what?" Chakotay asked.

"Enough of this. Sitting around not doing anything. Get up and put your shoes on and come into town with us."

"I'm not sitting around doing nothing," Chakotay said, annoyed. "I'm working on wood. I just sat down to rest for a minute."

"You haven't even gotten out your tools," Sekaya pointed out.

"Besides, I don't know anyone in town," Chakotay said. "They're your friends, not mine."

Sekaya was exasperated. "Maybe they would be your friends too, if you would drag yourself out of the house and meet them!"

"Sekaya," Atl said.

Sekaya sighed, and moderated her tone. "We're just going to El Perro Marron to have a drink. I would really like it if you would come with us. You can sit around there just as well as you can sit around here, if that's what you want to do."

Drinking when he was this unhappy seemed like a stupid thing to do - Chakotay still vividly remembered what a drunken mess Tom Paris had been the day they first met and he had no wish to sink that low himself. Chakotay only drank a little here and there, usually on happy occasions. Like the bottles of Antarian cider he had smuggled away in Cargo Bay 2 for his weekly dinners with Kathryn. The last two bottles were probably still there, hidden among the Borg components, awaiting their next special occasion. If there ever was another one. And there I go again. Can't I go two minutes without thinking of her?

"Please?" Sekaya said.

"Fine," Chakotay said, mostly because it would be too much effort to argue with her.

* * *

When Mark and Kathryn at last managed to extract themselves from the circle of journalists, they said their goodbyes to Mark's colleagues and to Tuvok, who had accompanied Kathryn to the debate, and slipped out the back entrance to have a late dinner together.

Kathryn had had to bite her tongue more than once to prevent herself from asking Tuvok if he wanted to accompany them. She wondered why on earth she didn't want to be alone with Mark. Everything had gone fine at the dinner last week. No emotional outbursts - from either of them - and they had kept up a steady conversation, catching up on everything they had missed out on over the years, and even doing a little fond reminiscing about good times they remembered. She had gone home feeling relieved that it had gone so well. In fact, it had been refreshingly normal, like any number of evenings she had spent with Mark pre-Delta Quadrant... except it hadn't ended with any kissing or cuddling.

They found a little restaurant not far from the debate venue, and in short order they were seated and looking over the menu. Kathryn looked at the words for a long time without really seeing them, and finally lowered the menu and looked over at Mark.

"You didn't used to go after your opponents like that," Kathryn said.

"Hmm?" Mark said, glancing up from the menu at her.

"You didn't used to be so aggressive in your debates," she said.

"Oh, that." Mark laid the menu down. "Yes. Well, I find that the older I get, the less patience I have for stupidity."

It seemed like Mark was full of surprises tonight. Patience had always been one of his defining characteristics. And while there weren't many debaters as sharp as Mark, his opponent hadn't been _too_ far out of his league; a little young and inexperienced, maybe, but he had been constructing cohesive arguments. Obviously Kathryn disagreed with those arguments, but she wouldn't have called them stupid.

The server came to take their orders.

"I'll have the pib x'catik," Kathryn said.

"Um, Kath?" Mark broke in as the server started to note that on a PADD. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"What?" she asked blankly.

"There's a picture of a little chili pepper by that. I think it's spicy."

"It is spicy," the server said helpfully.

"I like spicy," Kathryn said.

"Since when?" Mark asked. "No wait, let me guess. All the food in the Delta Quadrant was spicy, and you were forced to get used to it."

Kathryn smiled slightly. She had let so many similar sentences about the Delta Quadrant pass her lips recently that Mark was beginning to catch on.

"No, I can't blame this one on the DQ," she replied. "It was my First Officer's fault. Most of what he knows how to make is spicy."

When the server had finished taking their orders and left, Mark frowned slightly in puzzlement. "I thought you had a Delta Quadrant native onboard to cook for you. Don't tell me you put your First Officer to work in the kitchen, too."

"No, not really," she said, wondering how to explain. "Sometimes, when we ran out of replicator rations before the end of the month, we didn't always have the courage to try the latest Talaxian-spiced concoction. Chakotay had done enough cooking in his youth that we would sneak into the galley after hours and he would try to make some of his native dishes by improvising with ingredients we picked up from the planets we passed."

"I can't believe he talked you into even trying that stuff," Mark said incredulously. "All those times you came to visit me when I lived down south, and you wouldn't touch the native food with a 10-foot pole."

"Well…" Kathryn said slowly. "I didn't want to be picky about it, considering the fact that Chakotay started out the journey as a vegetarian, but he ended up learning to eat meat again because with all the supply shortages we dealt with, a lot of times that was what we had to eat. He was a good sport about it, so I tried to be, too. And I really did come to like some of the things he made. Like pib x'catik."

"Oh." Mark took a sip of coffee. "By the way, when do I get to meet him? I keep hearing so much about everyone on your senior staff, I think you owe me some introductions. Might as well start at the top."

Kathryn paused. "I'm sure you'll meet Chakotay sometime."

"Because I would be happy to give him some tips," Mark added. "Strategies for explaining the Maquis viewpoint, phrasings to avoid, and so forth. The same kinds of things I've been coaching you on. Get him some good public exposure in the newsfeeds."

"Chakotay's attorney advised him not to speak to the press until after the trial," she explained. "He'll have to rely on me for good public exposure."

Mark nodded in understanding. "Then your First Officer is in good hands. You did great tonight." He smiled briefly. "Well, in any case, I'd like to pick his brain about some other things. I've been thinking I should write a sequel to my first Maquis book. Talk to Commander Chakotay and some of your crewmembers and get their post-war perspectives. What do you think?"

"Oh…" Kathryn quickly swallowed a gulp of hot coffee. "Um, yes, that's a good idea. I could introduce you to some of them. After the trials."

The food arrived then, much to Kathryn's relief.

"You know, Kath, when I look at Voyager's logs," Mark said, starting in on his steak and potatoes as the server left, "there are some things I don't understand."

"What things?"

"Just... some of your choices. They don't seem like you. I don't know what to make of them."

Kathryn shook her head a little, not seeing where this was going. "Exactly which choices are we talking about? Can you give me an example?"

Mark thought for a moment. "The Brenari. The telepaths, the ones you smuggled through the Devore Imperium."

She waited, but Mark didn't say anything else.

"And?" she said at last.

"And?" Mark stared at her. "Kath, you helped them trespass through someone else's space. You interfered in a blood feud between two cultures. And you just about lost your own ship doing it. I have no idea what you were thinking."

"Did you read the whole log?" she asked. "The Brenari ship broke down in the middle of Devore space. The Devore hate telepaths. If the Imperium had found them, they would have been executed, children and all."

"I understand that," Mark said. "And of course the Imperium's laws against telepaths are deplorable. I think anyone would agree with that. But it wasn't your call to make, Kath. No one asked you to interfere."

"The Brenari did," she shot back. "They pleaded with me for sanctuary. And they weren't going through Devore space for the thrill of it. They were trying to get away from the Imperium so they could live somewhere in peace, without persecution."

"I understand that," Mark said again. "But what gave you the right to choose one side over the other? You were a stranger to their sector. You had never so much as met a Devore official when you took in the Brenari. How can you be sure you took the right side? How do you know the Brenari weren't lying to you, and that they were the aggressors in the conflict? These situations are always more complicated than they seem on the surface."

Kathryn's food was starting to get cold thanks to this unexpected line of questioning, but she couldn't let that kind of a comment go. "I'm well aware of that," she said, striving valiantly not to sound defensive. "But we had already gathered plenty of information on the Devore before we entered their space. They were notorious among the other species in that sector; everyone had already warned us how unreasonable they were about telepaths. How could I have refused the Brenari and simply gone on my way? We had already devised a way to hide the telepaths on our own crew, and it wasn't any more trouble to bring on a dozen passengers and do the same for them."

"Somehow I get the feeling Starfleet Command would disagree."

Kathryn looked at Mark with amusement curving her lips. "Appeal to authority?" she asked. "Is rhetoric the best you can do? What's the matter, did you run out of logic?"

"It isn't funny," Mark said. "Are they going to court-martial you over this?"

"Of course they are. I knew that going in."

Mark was becoming aggravated. "Then why did you do it?"

She looked at him strangely. "Because I cared about their lives more than my own discomfort at facing a board of inquiry. Mark, I can't tell anymore: are you playing devil's advocate here, or are you actually upset that I saved innocent lives?"

Mark put down his fork. "I'm not upset that you saved them. I'm sure it was a very noble thing to do. But the Federation decided a long time ago that it was unwise to play the part of the galactic policeman. There are good reasons for that. It looks to me like you threw all that reasoning under the bus on a whim."

"It was no whim," she said sharply. "You have no idea what it was like out there."

"Then tell me. I'm trying to understand."

"Look-" She paused to collect her thoughts. "About a year before that, we had taken a pounding trying to get through Krenim space. Voyager was literally in pieces. Most of my crew had abandoned ship, and those of us who stayed behind nearly starved. We finally ended up stranded with no warp drive and no way to make essential repairs. We could have been stuck there for the rest of our lives. I had even begun to accept that fate."

"Yes," Mark said more gently. "I read those logs, too."

She continued. "And then one day a ship came along. The Garenorians. Their fleet had been decimated by the Krenim. Their resources were depleted. They couldn't afford to help us... but they did anyway." She met Mark's gaze firmly. "We were strangers to them just as surely as the Brenari were strangers to us. And maybe the Garenorians had no right to interfere in the affairs of the Krenim by rescuing us. But I'm glad they did. Aren't you?"

"Yes, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that you were in Devore space and it wasn't your decision-"

"Then whose decision was it?" Kathryn demanded. "If this had happened in the Alpha Quadrant, I could have called Starfleet Command and asked for permission. If they had given it, then great. If they hadn't, then I would have felt badly, but at least I could have comforted myself that it was a joint decision in which the burden of responsibility lay on many shoulders. I didn't have anyone to call, Mark. I was alone."

"So you set yourself up as the supreme arbiter of the Delta Quadrant?" Mark was aghast.

"No, I set myself up as the supreme arbiter of my own conscience!" Kathryn took a deep breath. "If I had left the Brenari to die, that wouldn't have been a decision borne on the shoulders of the entire Federation. It would have been on me and my crew. Us alone. We had the power to save them, and if we hadn't, I would have carried the guilt. It was such a small thing to save them, Mark. A small thing for me, but a big thing for them. So yes. I played the policeman. I interfered where I had no business. But I'm not sorry."

"Is that what you're going to tell the board of inquiry?"

"If I have to."

"Is that what you're going to tell them about the other things, too?" Mark said coolly.

"What other things?"

"All the other things you're going to be court-martialed for. Giving technology to the Hirogen. Kidnapping that boy, the Borg boy. I forgot his name."

Now Kathryn was the one who was aghast. "I didn't kidnap Icheb!"

"I think it could be argued that you did. You took him away from his parents against their express wishes, didn't you? Just like you harbored a dozen criminals against the express wishes of Devore law enforcement. It looks like you became a law unto yourself while you were in the Delta Quadrant."

Kathryn was beginning to understand what Mark's debating opponent had felt like tonight. She hadn't seen the trap until he'd sprung it. It was embarrassing, and her embarrassment made her angry.

"Are you playing devil's advocate?" she demanded. "Yes or no, Mark, answer me straight!" For some reason she felt dangerously out of control, and she knew that if Mark pushed her much further they were going to end up making a public scene. Once upon a time she had been able to tell when Mark was playing devil's advocate, but he was not displaying any of the usual tells. He was calm and reasonable and in complete control of the conversation. No hint of mischief back in his eyes. For one wild moment, she found herself thinking, I don't know this man. This man was much more outspoken than the Mark she remembered. More bold.

More... provocative.

"Yes," Mark said.

Kathryn's shoulders sagged with relief. "Yes?"

"Yes," Mark confirmed, and finally he let a hint of a smile curve his lips. "I was playing devil's advocate. I was curious how you were planning to defend yourself on those charges. I doubt the board of inquiry is going to go easy on you."

Kathryn sighed heavily and then laughed at herself, a little weakly. "You really had me going there."

Mark grinned in the way she loved most, and for a second her heart seemed to stutter in confusion. "I noticed. You were starting to get a little feisty with me."

She sighed ruefully, and took a bite of her now-cold stuffed chilis. "Why do I get the feeling I just failed one of Professor Johnson's oral examinations?"

"You weren't doing badly," Mark conceded, "but you can't let your opponent get under your skin like that. And if you don't mind me saying so, don't bother talking about burdens of guilt. Of course _you_ care about your conscience, but the board of inquiry won't. I can help you focus your message better, if you want."

Kathryn laughed humorlessly again. "Apparently I need the help."

"No, it wasn't bad. I liked the bit about the Garenorians. That should play well. And I made you do it all impromptu. With a little preparation, you'll do better."

He made it sound like she was preparing for a debate. Which in a way she was, Kathryn realized, except it was her career at stake, not mere bragging rights. It wouldn't be the first time Mark had coached her through a hearing in front of the board of inquiry, a fact she only just now remembered. She knew he would give good advice. But it had been unsettling, almost frightening, how convincing his act had been. Maybe she should have anticipated that. He had told her last week that during her absence he had thrown himself into his work. Apparently it had paid off.

* * *

PADD entry, Kathryn Janeway, stardate 54435.9

 _What do you want?_

I want Mark to have what he's always wanted: Someone to argue philosophy with all day. Someone to go home with each night. Someone to fulfill his lifelong wish to be a father.

 _Did you act on that desire?_

Yes to the first. No to the rest.

 _Why or why not?_

Arguing with Mark is stimulating. I enjoyed it. And I've missed it, more than I can say. As for the rest... I can't give him these things right now. It's strange to even think of it. In many ways... he is a stranger to me now. And that will take time to heal.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 _Reviews welcome!_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's note:** This is the last of the altered chapters; after this it will be all-new material. Thanks to those who left reviews, they are always appreciated!_

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Chakotay, Atl and Sekaya walked to the village after watching the Questor debate. It turned out that El Perro Marron, Sekaya and Atl's choice of weekly entertainment, was Huatabampo's hole-in-the-wall establishment. Despite the unloveliness of the decor, it was clearly a favorite of the locals and the place was crowded. Sekaya threaded her way through the tables with Atl close behind her, and threw herself into the arms of a friend with a happy exclamation.

Then she turned back to Chakotay. "Chakotay, this is my friend, Itzel. Itzel, this is my brother that I told you about."

Itzel smiled at him and gave a nervous little wave. "Hi." She had very long black hair, even longer than Sekaya's, and a tattoo over her eye that matched theirs. Why was she acting nervous to meet him? Chakotay was mystified. Sekaya and Atl were already sliding into the booth on one side of the table, leaving only the spot next to Itzel open. Chakotay began to get a funny feeling.

"Sekaya, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.

She shrugged, and slid out of the booth again. He pulled her aside near the bar, where the noise could easily cover a conversation.

"Sekaya," he said. "What is going on?"

"What do you mean?" Her face was a study of innocence.

"Are you trying to set me up with this woman?"

"Itzel is a very good friend of mine," she objected. "I meet her here all the time."

Chakotay stared at Sekaya, who shortly began to squirm uncomfortably.

"Well, if I _were_ setting you up with her, would that be such an awful thing?" she asked in a defensive tone.

Chakotay could barely hide his exasperation. "Sekaya," he ground out, "getting a girlfriend is not going to fix what ails me."

"I never said it would," she said sharply, abruptly abandoning all attempt at being coy. "Believe me, I know. Having a husband - the very best of husbands - hasn't fixed what ails me, either. But no matter how unhappy I get, at least I'm not lonely on top of it all. I can't stand seeing you mope around the house alone every night."

"Have you forgotten that I'm bound for trial for war crimes? This isn't exactly the ideal time for me to try to pick up women!" Chakotay hissed.

"Oh, please! The only people who care about that are those self-righteous Starfleet stiffs in San Francisco!" Sekaya tossed back. "Look, Itzel was widowed by the Cardassians on Dorvan 5. She thinks of the Maquis as heroes. And so does nearly everyone else around here. So quit feeling sorry for yourself, and at least try to have a good time tonight, why don't you?"

Chakotay scowled. "Well, forgive me if I'm not exactly in the mood for fun and games. Something about the prospect of spending the rest of my life in prison really puts a damper on my plans for romance."

Sekaya threw up her hands in exasperation and scoffed loudly. The bartender glanced over at them curiously, and then turned his attention back to the drinks he was pouring.

Chakotay folded his arms across his chest, and he and Sekaya glared in opposite directions for a minute.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to _marry_ Itzel, all right?" Sekaya continued more quietly after a minute. "If you would even just make friends with her, I would be thrilled."

"I already have friends."

"Who? The only person who's come to see you is B'Elanna. No one ever invites you anywhere. I guess all your so-called friends on Voyager aren't interested in spending time with a war criminal."

Chakotay opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again. What would be the point? It didn't matter what he explained about everyone from Voyager being busy with their own families and their uncertain attempts to pick up the pieces of their former lives and figure out how to forge ahead. Because he knew what it was that Sekaya really wanted, and it wasn't for him to make friends.

It was the same thing Chakotay's father had wanted for him: to find a nice woman from their own tribe to marry so that he would have children who would be raised to carry on the tribe's traditions. As young as Sekaya was when Chakotay joined Starfleet, she had often parroted Kolopak's arguments along those lines. Chakotay suspected that neither one of them ever gave up hope that he would someday be lured away from the space-faring life by the prospect of a family and a settled life.

And if Chakotay were honest with himself, there were aspects of that future that had appealed to him. He had always assumed that at some point in his life he would get married, although he didn't see why he should give up Starfleet for it. There were plenty of people who managed to have both family and career. But serving as an officer during the turmoil of the Cardassian War was not conducive to starting a family, and then he had gone renegade and thrown himself into the thick of the conflict, which made forming a serious attachment even more unthinkable.

It was that very situation that had led to his much-regretted relationship with Seska, when he knew from the beginning that she was not exactly wife material. Under ordinary circumstances he never would have looked twice at someone like her. But by then he had been driven to such depths of misery from the loss of his father, his home colony, and his life-long dream of exploring the galaxy, not to mention the strain of near-constant battles with the Cardassians, that what Seska was offering had suddenly seemed very attractive. Later, when he finally found out just how deep her treachery ran, he had been forced to admit to himself that he had been drowning in a sea of loneliness, and had been only too happy to accept the only life preserver tossed to him. At least when he was with Seska he experienced something akin to happiness. She had been so very good at flattery, and in his emotional state he was all too ready to believe every word she said, and go along with just about anything she suggested.

Learning these ugly truths about himself had been a heavy blow to his pride, and after Seska betrayed Voyager to the Kazon, Chakotay had sworn an oath in the depths of his humiliation that never again would he choose a woman based solely on his need for physical affection. Better to be alone than to endure that kind of heartbreak.

"Well?" Sekaya said.

"Fine," he said wearily. "I'll go make friends with Itzel." If he put in a little effort tonight, he would get Sekaya off his back for a while at least.

"And try - really try - to have a good time?" Sekaya pressed. Her face was anxious, and Chakotay felt a stab of guilt. After all, she was only trying to help.

"Yes," he said patiently. "I will try."

He was true to his word. And so he faked an interest in Itzel he didn't feel - and she didn't make it easy on him, either, because she was on the quiet side and had to be coaxed out of her shell. Not his type at all. What was Sekaya thinking? But eventually she started to open up, and soon the conversation was interesting enough in its way. Itzel had a surprisingly sophisticated understanding of history and politics. It turned out she was schooling her children herself, along with another family, and the parents took turns teaching the various subjects, according to their areas of expertise.

Having taught a few lessons here and there to the children on Voyager, Chakotay remembered well what a difficult balancing act it was, trying to impart knowledge while simultaneously maintaining discipline. And none of the children on Voyager had been truly difficult - unless you counted Q Jr. - but they had all been prone to go off on a tangent mid-lesson, and he had often found it challenging to get them back on track. He thought that Itzel must have a will of iron to teach day in and day out, especially considering how apt children were to act up more around their parents than around other adults. And she genuinely seemed to enjoy it, candidly admitting to him that there was nothing she loved better than spending every day with her children.

"How old are they?" he asked.

"Mine are 13 and 14. The students from the other family are 12, 15 and 17."

"Teenagers?" Chakotay felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Aren't they a little... difficult, at that age?" He had been a nightmare to his teachers in that phase, he was ashamed to remember now.

"Oh, they certainly have their own ideas about things," Itzel said easily. "But I find them much more interesting now than when they were little."

She launched into a description of the discussion she had led with her students after they watched the latest presidential debate. The campaigning by the candidates was more vigorous than usual this election cycle, as the citizens of the Federation faced the question of whether to adopt more hawkish policies, which many believed was prudent given the near-disastrous results of the war with the Dominion, or to attempt a return to the Federation's former optimistic focus on exploration and colonization, which many believed was once again possible with the Dominion threat neutralized.

Chakotay was reminded of how much catching up he had to do on current events; he had barely even heard of several of the candidates for Federation president now making waves on the newsfeeds. And the election was only a few months away. Itzel seemed to think this one would be a game-changer for the Federation.

"Whatever our decision, it will shape the Federation for decades to come," she predicted. "Much like the Khitomer Accords."

Sekaya and Atl appeared to be bored by this turn in the conversation. They got up to move to another table where some friends of theirs had just arrived, with Sekaya shooting Chakotay a look that clearly said, "You're supposed to be having fun!"

Strangely enough, he almost was.

"So which side are your students on?" he asked.

"They ended up split," Itzel said. "A few of them said we needed a stronger military in case someone else attacks. Some of them said the danger was over now and we needed to focus on colonization; replenish our numbers, keep inventing better terraforming techniques, and spread out across so many worlds that we can never be wiped out even if we are attacked."

"And that's what you think too?"

Itzel looked surprised. "No. No, I think we learned our lesson with the Cardassians. Or we should have. We were so anxious to prove ourselves as peaceful beings that instead of eliminating a military threat that openly stated they wished to destroy us, we permitted them to build strength. Well, that didn't bring us much peace in the end, did it? Nor to the Cardassians. I wish we lived in a galaxy enlightened enough that we could afford to be complacent about our defense, but we don't."

"A lot of people who joined Starfleet didn't do it with the idea of becoming dedicated soldiers," Chakotay pointed out.

"Well, maybe it's time we dusted off that old idea about splitting Starfleet into two branches, one for science, one for defense," Itzel said. "We've been moving in that direction the last few years anyway. Look at the new Prometheus-class starships. They're built for one purpose only, and it surely isn't exploration. Then compare that to a Nova-class, which is..."

"...essentially useless for combat," Chakotay finished.

"Exactly! We're halfway there already."

"There are certain advantages to combining the two goals into a single fleet," Chakotay said.

"Yes, of course, the versatility," Itzel said. "I'm familiar with the argument: our fleet is so spread out that there is often only one ship in any given sector, and depending on the nature of the crisis, that ship needs to be ready to respond with diplomacy, or medical aid, or scientific research, or military force on an as-needed basis. But even so, it makes sense to have ships that specialize one way or the other..."

"Ships, yes," Chakotay said. "The entire fleet, no. There are certain advantages to a society diluting the power of its military strategists with other concerns. Haven't you ever wondered how the Federation has lasted so long without initiating a conflict even once? Among the major powers in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, that's unheard of. A combination of goals helps us keep our moral compass pointing north."

This launched them into a whole new discussion, and they were still in the thick of it when Sekaya and Atl came back and said it was getting late.

"Oh, it is," Itzel said in dismay, looking at the chrono and quickly standing. "I didn't realize. I need to get home, I have a lot to do tomorrow."

Sekaya gave her a hug. "See you later, honey. Thanks for coming."

"Bye," Itzel said, hugging her back. "Bye, Atl." Atl nodded seriously at Itzel as she gathered up her jacket.

Chakotay glanced out the window at the darkened sky.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"Oh, just a couple of blocks away," she said as she shoved her arms into the sleeves and pulled her long hair out from the collar of her jacket.

"In the opposite direction we're going," Sekaya added.

"Well, we can walk you home first," Chakotay said. "It's pitch black out there."

"That's a great idea," Sekaya said quickly. "Okay, we'll see you at home, Chakotay."

Either she hadn't heard his use of the word "we," or she hadn't cared to. In any case, Chakotay found himself walking Itzel home while Sekaya went merrily off in the other direction with Atl, who glanced back and gave Chakotay a silent sympathetic look before they disappeared into the darkness.

Suddenly the ease with which he'd been talking to Itzel for the past hour and a half vanished, and an awkward silence stretched out between them as they walked along. Though why the silence should be awkward, Chakotay had no idea. Normally he liked being with friends in silence from time to time. It was a beautiful night, with the stars thickly strewn across the sky and the scent of teak blossoms in the air, and it should have been a pleasant walk, but the only thing in Chakotay's head was a morbid curiosity over what exactly Itzel was thinking at this moment.

Had Sekaya simply thrown him and Itzel together tonight in the hopes that something spontaneous would happen? Or had she told Itzel that she was setting her up with Chakotay? Was Itzel going to be expecting something from him? Some promise of seeing each other again? She was so quiet, walking in the darkness next to him. Was it just her natural introvertedness, or was she nervous?

She had been widowed for 9 years now. Raising two teenagers on her own. If anyone were drowning in a sea of loneliness, he suspected it would be her. He felt a swell of pity. It must have been very difficult, losing her husband and her home in one fell blow, and having to start completely over in a new place. If he ended up having to disappoint her, it was going to become very awkward.

Chakotay felt himself getting more annoyed with Sekaya by the moment for getting him into this situation. If she had just told him what she was planning tonight, at least he would have known what to expect. At least he would have had a chance to explain to her... what?

What could he have explained to her about Kathryn? The thing is, Sekaya, I'm in love with a woman I've been waiting for for years, and I think I might be losing her to someone else, and I can't face yet another loss right now. And Sekaya, I didn't want to tell you any of this because she's a Starfleet officer, and I know you'll already hate her before you even get a chance to know her, and you'll tell me to forget her. And I can't forget her.

I don't want to forget her.

How many times had he sat with Kathryn in silence, wholly comfortable, wholly himself? The moonlit sail on Lake George. The evenings on New Earth. The many times they had sat in her Ready Room or his office, working on their own projects, not saying anything to each other for an hour or more at a time, but not ever feeling alone, either. And if one of them suddenly laughed over something they read, or thought of something aggravating to vent about or an interesting thought to share, they would just start talking about it as though the conversation hadn't ever stopped.

Suddenly Chakotay felt so agitated that he wanted to shout, wanted to jump out of his skin, wanted to run back to Sekaya's home and call Kathryn and demand that she give him an answer right now. What was she thinking, leaving him hanging like this when she knew how unhappy he was? Didn't she know that she was the best thing that ever happened to him? Didn't she know how hard he would work to make her happy? Was there anything he wouldn't do for her?

"Well, this is my place," Itzel said, gesturing at the house she had just stopped in front of.

It had been a mistake to let himself think about Kathryn. Now he was in such a state that he had no idea what to say, no idea how to extract himself gracefully from this situation.

"Nice house," he said to Itzel to buy himself time, but in the darkness he could barely even see it.

"It keeps the rain off our heads," Itzel said, shrugging. Then she laced her hands together and looked at him, rocking back and forth a little on her toes. She made no move to go inside the house.

"I had a really good time tonight," she said.

Worse and worse. She was expecting something. Chakotay wanted to swear. At Sekaya, not at Itzel. Itzel was about to become the victim of misplaced expectations.

He took a moment to compose his next sentences carefully. "It was nice to meet you. Now if I have any questions about the upcoming election, I know who to call." He hoped he sounded friendly but not flirtatious.

But he hadn't composed his words carefully enough. Itzel tilted her head at him and said with a small smile, "You can call anytime you like."

Chakotay said a few swear words in his head. When he woke up this morning, he'd had no plans to hurt the feelings of anyone, much less a widowed mother who was perfectly nice, reasonably pretty, and quite smart, who clearly deserved better than a hopelessly confused, emotionally unstable man who was completely blindsided by the fact that he had just been on an involuntary date with a complete stranger.

It was his cue to ask to link their combadges, but of course he couldn't do that. It would only delay the inevitable.

"Sekaya said you two are good friends," he said. "In that case, I'm sure I'll see you around sometime."

"Sometime..." Itzel repeated slowly, sounding slightly confused.

"Although my work in San Francisco keeps me pretty busy," he added quickly, "and I don't know how often I'll be around here. Anyway," he gave her a half-wave, "have a good night. It was nice to meet you."

He turned around and started to walk away.

"Wait!" she called.

He stopped and turned around slowly, half-expecting to see her looking angry at his abruptness or, even worse, hurt. But to his surprise she looked perfectly calm.

"Did I do or say something wrong?" she asked coolly.

"What? No, of course not..."

She looked at him a little too knowingly. "I appreciate honesty. You can tell me the truth. I know I'm not very good at-" She waved her hand vaguely. "-this kind of thing. If I did something wrong, I really would rather know about it, so I can do better next time."

"You didn't do anything wrong," he repeated firmly.

"Then why...?"

Chakotay rubbed his forehead wearily. "Look, I don't know what Sekaya told you about what was supposed to happen, but the fact of the matter is, I had no idea I was meeting someone tonight."

Her mouth formed a perfect o. After a moment, she said, "Oh."

There was a pause. Suddenly Itzel chuckled. "Well, that explains everything. I thought something was a little off tonight, but I couldn't tell what. Nice of Sekaya to spring that on you, wasn't it?" She seemed more amused than annoyed. It wasn't at all the reaction he was expecting.

"I suppose she was trying to help," he said cautiously.

"And you played along like a good brother." Itzel laughed again. "You know, you could have said something as soon as she left the table. Maybe then we both could have relaxed and had a good laugh at her expense and been more comfortable the rest of the night."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"I'm not quite so fragile as that."

Her amusement was infectious. Chakotay could not help but smile. "Yes, I see that. Now."

Itzel shook her head, looking rueful. "I'm only sorry your evening got ruined."

"It wasn't ruined," he hastened to reassure her. "We had a good talk. I only would have sat at home doing nothing, otherwise."

"Well, anytime you get bored and want to talk politics, you know where to find me."

"And next time we won't have to deal with this little misunderstanding," Chakotay added.

"We might, if you don't go home quick," Itzel laughed. "The longer you're here, the more Sekaya will think her brilliant plan worked."

"In that case, I better run. Thanks for being so understanding."

"Be careful in the dark!" Itzel called out.

"Don't worry, if I trip there are plenty of cacti around here to break my fall," he called back. Itzel laughed merrily in response.

After he had walked a short distance away, Chakotay glanced back. Itzel had disappeared into her house, and now yellow light flared on in one of the windows, casting a bright ray of light out into the dark street.

The evening hadn't gone nearly as badly as Chakotay had expected. For a little while, talking with Itzel, he had forgotten the misery of the preceding week. Maybe Sekaya was right, and he should make more of an effort to go out and spend time with people.

It was better than being alone.

* * *

It was late enough when Kathryn got back to Indiana that she expected her mother would already be in bed, and indeed there was no sign of her when Kathryn walked in - but the house wasn't dark and silent, either. Phoebe was sitting on the couch in the living room, sketching on her notepad to pass the time, but when Kathryn walked in, she set her notepad aside.

"Hi, sis. How did it go?" Phoebe asked.

Kathryn sank down on the couch next to her sister and tipped her head back, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. It had been a long night, and she felt drained.

"I think Mark definitely came off the victor," she said. "Didn't you watch?"

"I wasn't talking about the debate," Phoebe said. "I meant the dinner afterward."

"Oh." Kathryn shrugged, not bothering to open her eyes. "It went fine."

"Define 'fine.'"

"I don't know, Phoebe. The usual definition of fine."

"Because dates should not ever be _fine_. Either they're a disaster and you never want to see him again, or they're so fabulous that you can't wait for the next one."

"It wasn't a date," Kathryn objected, lifting her head to look over at her sister. "Well... maybe it was."

"And?" Phoebe looked at her expectantly, and Kathryn sat up and forced herself to wake up enough to concentrate on the conversation. It was clear Phoebe was not going to go home until she got the full report.

"We had a really nice fight over dinner," she said.

"Oh yes?"

"Mmmm. One of our best. He lit into me about some things I did in the Delta Quadrant, and I fought back, and things got exciting. If it had gone on much longer, I think the server would have had to separate us."

Phoebe grinned mischievously. "Have you noticed Mark fights dirtier than he used to?"

"I couldn't help but notice that. I thought maybe I'd just caught him in a mood."

"Oh, no," Phoebe said emphatically. "He's like that all the time now."

"I'm starting to notice there _is_ something different about him," Kathryn admitted. "It's as though…" She paused. "Well, compared to how he was before, it seems like he's less…"

"Boring?" Phoebe supplied.

"I was going to say 'mild-mannered,'" Kathryn objected, but she was too tired to scold Phoebe for her tactlessness, as she would have liked to do. Mark had never been boring to her, anyway. To the contrary, his steadiness had always been a welcome change from the chaos of her work.

"Well, it's true," Phoebe said unrepentantly. "Mark _is_ a lot more interesting than he used to be. He was always so careful not to say half the things he thought. Now everything just pops right out. I love it."

Kathryn smiled, despite herself. "It did make for an interesting evening."

Phoebe looked satisfied. "See there, now it's starting to come out. So did this interesting evening end in a kiss?"

"Not that it's any business of yours…"

"I'm your sister. That _makes_ it my business."

"...but no, it didn't."

Phoebe pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That surprises me, actually. Did it look like he wanted to?"

"I'm not sure," Kathryn said slowly. "I think maybe he was waiting for some kind of encouragement from me. Maybe it would help us both figure things out if we tried it. But I can't help but think of Vicky, and-" Kathryn stopped, and cleared her throat.

Phoebe nodded slowly. "Vicky's great. I think you'd like her. She's the kind that usually looks and sounds like a sweet innocent thing - and honestly, she _is_ \- but every once in a while, she says something that makes you realize she has some sass hidden deep down inside. She lets it come out to play sometimes. And _smart_." Phoebe whistled. "She gives Mark a run for his money."

"In that case," Kathryn said, "maybe Mark and I shouldn't even be _trying_ to…" She trailed off.

"You would back off based on whether or not Vicky is good for him?" Phoebe demanded.

"Shouldn't I?"

Phoebe was scrutinizing her suspiciously. "Kathryn, are you doing this because _you_ want to? Or because Mark wants you to?"

"Why can't it be both?"

"Is it?"

"Well, it was his idea. But of course I agreed."

"There's no 'of course'!" Phoebe objected. " _Why_ did you agree?"

"Phoebe, honestly. You do realize that technically I'm still engaged to him? And that I still care about him very deeply, and I don't want to hurt him any more than I already have?"

"Oh, please!" Phoebe exclaimed. "Spare me your guilt trips! _You_ didn't hurt him… life did."

"However you look at it, the fact remains that the man I love asked me to do something for him, and I had the courtesy to agree to give it a try," Kathryn said firmly. "Phoebe, you're the one who told me that Mark couldn't even _function_ while I was gone..."

"Is _that_ what you're afraid of?" Phoebe asked. "Sending him into another spiral of depression?" Her eyes softened somewhat. "I know you weren't here, so you don't know. Believe it or not, Kathryn, Mark learned something from his experience. Yes, he hit rock bottom for a while. But he knows how to cope now. If things don't work out between the two of you this time, you are _not_ going to ruin his life."

Impulsively, Phoebe reached over with one arm and gave Kathryn a squeeze. "But you're sweet to worry about that. I'm on your side, you know, no matter what. I'm your sister. I have to be."

Kathryn leaned into Phoebe's embrace gratefully, and rested her head against her sister's. Despite her frequently annoying behavior, Phoebe did have her moments. Kathryn had almost forgotten what this was like, to have someone with whom she could freely discuss her personal life. It was a relief to have that outlet once more. She had missed it more than she would admit.

"And you know," Phoebe continued, "if things don't work out with Mark, there are millions of other men right here on Earth, available and ready for the taking." She pulled back and gave Kathryn a mischievous look. "Now that you're famous, we could probably get them to line up on your doorstep."

Kathryn grimaced. "Twenty years ago, I would have been thrilled to hear that. Right now, it just sounds exhausting. At my age, I'm not sure I want to start back at square 1."

"I suppose you could always give up on love entirely," Phoebe said, and to Kathryn's surprise her sister was actually looking at her questioningly, as though she thought Kathryn might be considering that.

"I've never wanted to spend my life alone, as you very well know," Kathryn shot back.

"In that case," Phoebe said, adopting a thoughtful look, "we should start compiling a list of men you already know who have potential."

"Oh, Phoebe," Kathryn said in some disgust. "Didn't I just say-"

"I know, I know," Phoebe cut in. "You're giving Mark a fair chance. Well, there's no harm in forming a Plan B, is there? Just in case? So, who do you have in mind?"

"I refuse to have this conversation with you of all people," Kathryn said firmly.

"What?" Phoebe looked offended. "Why not?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't. Please enlighten me."

Kathryn sighed exaggeratedly. "Three words," she said. " Johnny De Luca."

Phoebe's mouth fell open. "Oh, now… that is not fair!"

"I told you about my crush in the strictest of confidences, and what did you do? One week later you went and spilled the beans... _to his mother_!"

"Kathryn, that was in _seventh grade_!" Phoebe objected loudly. "I have learned a little self-control since then, believe it or not!"

"Very little."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "I won't tell anyone. Not even Mom. I promise."

"Phoebe, no! Now please go away and let me sleep. I'm exhausted, and I have meetings in the morning."

Phoebe didn't budge off the couch. Instead, she grinned at Kathryn wickedly. "I know someone who's interested in _you_."

"Who?" Kathryn asked, wearily rubbing her eyes. "Your neighbor, the coin collector?"

Phoebe perked up a little. "Why? Are you interested in him?"

"Ugh."

Phoebe shoulders sagged. "Fine. No, this other guy is much better. Trust me."

"Phoebe, I really, really don't want you to try to hook me up with someone."

"I don't need to. You already know him. You brought him over here to dinner once, and the two of you got along famously."

Phoebe's sense of humor could get very weird, and Kathryn was not in the mood to encourage it tonight. Then again, she rarely was.

"Unfortunately, Tuvok's already married," Kathryn pointed out dryly, not even bothering to give Phoebe a courtesy chuckle.

Phoebe burst out laughing, and Kathryn quickly reached over and covered up her sister's mouth.

"Get off!" Phoebe said, batting away Kathryn's hand and laughing again.

"You're going to wake up Mom!" Kathryn hissed. "Shush!"

"Not _Tuvok_!" Phoebe said, heroically trying to swallow a giggle. "And you say _I_ have a sick sense of humor? I'm talking about before that! Your First Officer, you dope!"

Kathryn paused a moment, and then laughed shortly. "Well, that's equally ridiculous."

"No, really," Phoebe continued blithely. "Remember when I was brushing your hair that night you brought him over? I swear he kept looking over at you like you were something delicious to eat."

"Well… that's…" Caught completely off guard, Kathryn searched for the words she needed. "No, Phoebe... It's just that… he's really used to seeing me stressed out. He was probably just shocked to see me relaxed and smiling for a change. You're being ridiculous."

She waited for Phoebe's defiant retort, but it never came. Instead, Phoebe was looking at her with wonderment.

"Kathryn," she said slowly. "You just got a look."

"No, I didn't. What look?"

"I was just teasing, but you got a look. It was the 'Phoebe-just-hit-a-nerve' look. No, wait, seriously. _Do_ you have something going on with Chakotay?"

Kathryn glared at Phoebe. "I think I'd know if I had something going on with someone, don't you think?"

"Yes, but would you tell _me_?"

"You know as much as I do."

Her sister looked dumbfounded. "You really _do_ have something going on with Chakotay, don't you?"

"No, I really _don't_." Kathryn stood up. "I'm too tired to play this game with you, Phoebe. I'm going to bed. Good night."

She started up the stairs toward her bedroom.

"Good night, Kathryn," Phoebe called up to her softly, so as not to wake up their mother. "I love you."

Kathryn paused at the top of the steps, and looked back. Phoebe was standing at the foot of the stairs with her sketchbook tucked under her arm, having the decency to look somewhat contrite.

"I love you too," Kathryn said.

"I know." Phoebe smiled at her sweetly. "But we're not done with this conversation," she added, and on that ominous note, slipped out the front door.

Kathryn rolled her eyes, and went to bed.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Chakotay gently spread out the items from his medicine bundle onto his bed. On the other side of the wall, he could hear the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices as Sekaya and Atl prepared dinner.

He knew he'd put this off for too long. Right now he needed the guidance of his animal spirit more than ever, yet he had kept making excuses the past few weeks, stubbornly telling himself he was too busy to go on a vision quest. Too many things to do, too many things to think about - or, more accurately, worry about.

But tonight, after enduring yet another day distracted by grief and pain over his fallen Maquis friends, he remembered Kathryn's words to him, and managed to be sensible enough to pull out his medicine bundle and place his hand gently on the akoonah.

"A-koo-chee-moya," he said softly. "I am here, after a long journey, back in the land of my forefathers. I pray on this day to speak to my animal guide, so that I may find the answers that I seek."

* * *

When Chakotay opened his eyes, he immediately recognized where he was: the lush green jungle in Central America where his father had taken him, at age 15, to try to find the Rubber Tree People. He was standing amid a jumble of rocks next to a deeply-shaded tree, and there, standing beside him, was his animal guide.

"It's been a long time since we spoke, brother."

His animal guide, a capuchin monkey with dark fur and splashes of white on her chest and face, tilted her head curiously at Chakotay.

"It has," Chakotay admitted.

"And what has brought you here to me today?"

Chakotay sat down cross-legged on a large rounded rock. "I'm unhappy. I need your help."

The monkey scampered up and perched on the rock next to him, curling her tail about her paws. "Tell me, brother."

Chakotay sighed deeply. "I just found out that a lot of my friends are dead. Good people, people who just wanted to live their lives in peace, but they got dragged into fighting a war to protect their homes and their families. Now they're dead, and their families are refugees, and their homes are in ruins."

"That must make you very sad."

"Sad. Angry. Guilty. You name it, I'm feeling it."

"I can't say that I blame you."

The monkey began picking insects out of her fur and eating them. Chakotay waited as patiently as he could, but after several minutes of being ignored by his animal guide, he became restless.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Well, what?" the monkey said.

"What am I supposed to do?"

The monkey twitched her shoulder in a manner that looked almost like a human shrug. "Something."

Chakotay found this maddening. "I know that, but what?"

"Anything would be better than what you're doing now, which is nothing."

"Aren't you going to give me a hint?" Chakotay asked.

The monkey idly scratched her ear. "Do you really need me to?"

"You're my animal guide, aren't you? So guide me."

The monkey jumped up to a nearby branch and crouched there, peering down at Chakotay.

"There was a time when you didn't wait around to be told what to do," the monkey said. "If you saw something that needed to be done, you went and did it. What happened to that Chakotay?"

"He got demoted the day his ship blew up in the Delta Quadrant."

"Are you telling me that reverting to First Officer made you forget how to be a man?"

This was becoming downright insulting. "You aren't being fair. I'm not waiting for someone to give me an order. I'm ready to take action, it's just that I don't know what action I'm supposed to take."

"First, why don't you tell me what your problem really is?"

Chakotay was beginning to understand why B'Elanna had tried to kill her animal guide. "I just did!"

"So you're angry with the Cardassians. You have been before."

"Yes, and last time I coped with it by resigning from Starfleet so I could go out and kill them! That doesn't seem to be a valid option this time."

"It isn't?"

Chakotay paused. He hadn't even really considered it, but he wasn't wearing a security anklet, was he? If he became truly determined to leave Earth, how hard could it be to escape Starfleet's clutches and track down the ones who were responsible for killing K'Tarra and Meyer and Roberto and then... and then...

And then what?

"I don't want to kill Cardassians," Chakotay said slowly.

"No? Why not?"

"At this point, I think it would feel less like self-defense and more like revenge. I want my wounds to close, not open new ones."

The monkey gripped the branch with her tail and then let go with her hands and feet, slowly lowering herself so that she hung upside down, looking Chakotay in the eyes.

"This isn't really about the Cardassians, is it?" the monkey asked.

"Yes, it is!" Chakotay insisted. "Or... at least part of it is."

"Well, what's the rest of it? How can you expect me to help you if you haven't fully explained the problem?"

"It's just that... it's..." Chakotay floundered a bit.

"Think before you talk," the monkey advised.

Chakotay sighed and sat down on a rock at the edge of the stream. It was so hot in the jungle that he could feel his hair getting damp and plastering itself against his head. After a minute, he took his shoes and socks off and paddled his bare feet in the water. That felt better. But even so, the heat and the humidity were so oppressive that it still wasn't enough. Finally, Chakotay ended up stripping off all his clothes and wading out into the stream, wincing as the sharp rocks bit into his feet, and then when he got to deeper water he laid back in the coolness and closed his eyes and just let himself drift in the slow current.

He floated for a long time. Every now and again, he opened his eyes and saw his animal guide swinging lazily from branch to branch, keeping up with him as he drifted downstream.

Time went past unheeded while Chakotay thought. At last, he turned over and swam with firm strokes back to the banks of the stream, and heaved himself, dripping wet, onto a sun-warmed rock to dry. Without noticing what he was doing, he ran his hand briefly over the scar running across his ribs.

The capuchin monkey dropped down from the tree to join him.

"Well?" the monkey asked.

Chakotay smoothed back his dripping hair and then wiped water out of his eyes.

"It's like I'm having a mid-life crisis," Chakotay said, "only it's much worse. I'm having an entire-life crisis."

"Meaning?"

It all came out of his mouth in a rush, everything that had come to him as he floated down that stream. "I spent the first half of my adult life putting my heart and soul into my Starfleet career, and then I threw it all away to join the Maquis because I thought it was a nobler cause, only I failed to make a difference because I got transported to the Delta Quadrant before the job was done and missed my chance to become a martyr alongside my friends. Then I spent all those years in the Delta Quadrant trying to protect the woman I came to love and to earn her love in return, and just when I thought I had done that, we came back home and now I'm losing her to somebody else. My time with Starfleet is over, my time with the Maquis is over, and my time on Voyager is over. There's nothing left. What was the point of it all? Was there one? I'm beginning to wonder. It feels like everything I've ever tried to do has been a complete waste of energy."

"That's quite the story," the monkey said.

"You're telling me. I've created nothing lasting in my past, or my present. And I'm not likely to do so in my future either, as far as I can see."

The monkey put a tiny hand on his bare knee. "No wonder you're unhappy, brother."

"So I would really appreciate it if you would stop playing mind games with me," Chakotay said quietly, "and tell me what I need to do to fix this."

The monkey blinked her dark eyes several times. "You can't change your past."

"No."

"You can't fully control your future, either."

"No."

"As for the present, I don't think it's nearly as grim as you're making it out to be. You have friends who would be willing to help you."

Chakotay was getting irritated again. "I have an animal guide willing to help me, or at least I used to. My friends have plenty of their own problems to deal with right now."

"You think you're being noble by taking all this weight on your own shoulders? That isn't heroism, that's pride."

Chakotay scowled. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"You're just saying what Kathryn said to me the other day. You're just pulling things out of my memory."

"She gave you good advice, for a mortal."

Chakotay stood up, flipping water everywhere as he did so. "Are you going to tell me anything useful, or not?"

The monkey stared up at him, with little drops of water glistening in her fur. "Stop pinning this on me, brother. You already know what you're supposed to do. Now be a man and go do it."

Chakotay took his hand off the akoonah and dropped the river stone in disgust. He glanced around the empty bedroom, with all the knick knacks Ikal had left behind when he moved to Dorvan V. From the kitchen, he heard the bang of the oven door. He'd been in the trance for more than an hour, and hadn't accomplished a single thing. With less care than usual, Chakotay gathered the items back into his medicine bundle and set it on top of his bed. Then he stood up and glared at it.

"Useless monkey," he said.

The most maddening thing of all was that he knew exactly what his animal guide wanted him to do, and it was precisely the thing he most strenuously didn't want to do.

I'm not ready to ask. She's not ready to answer. The timing's all wrong.

And then he thought: the timing has always been wrong for us. Maybe it always will be.

The thought sickened him. And even though he knew there was no way he could talk to Kathryn about that yet, there was a part of him that was tempted, very tempted, to show up on her doorstep tonight and spill his guts about some of the other things. The Maquis. His career. His trial. The Cardassians. It would be a relief just to talk about it. The monkey was right, he should go see her. He didn't have to tell her about the rest yet. The monkey didn't know everything, after all.

By now, he should know better, but Chakotay did it anyway: he sat at his desk and brought up Kathryn's schedule to see where she was tonight. And of course, she was with Mark. Having dinner with him at her mother's house.

Chakotay leaned back and rubbed his eyes wearily with both hands. He found himself holding an argument with himself inside his head.

She told me to call her. Any time, day or night. She said to call even if she was with an admiral.

She didn't say to call if she was with her ex-fiance. Or fiance. Whichever it is now.

She's my friend. She would drop anything to help me if it was important.

How awkward is it going to be for her if you call while she's with Mark? Do you really want to upset her?

She said she wanted me to impose on her. She told me not to shut her out.

No, she said don't shut people out. You don't have to talk to her. Go talk to someone else.

Who else do I have? Sekaya doesn't want to hear about how much I fear losing my Starfleet career. B'Elanna's still in counseling for her problems and doesn't need to grapple with mine, too. Who else can I trust with something this personal?

"You can call anytime you like. If you ever get bored and want to talk, you know where to find me."

Itzel. He could talk to Itzel.

No. Bad idea. He barely knew her. He couldn't talk to her about all this.

Or could he? She had been widowed by the Cardassians, had supported the Maquis. She would understand about all of that. And she didn't seem to have the same abiding hatred for Starfleet that Sekaya had. Maybe she wouldn't shut down like Sekaya did every time he tried to talk about Voyager or any of his friends there. And Itzel was a good listener, he did know that much about her.

Maybe this was what his animal guide had been referring to. Itzel, not Kathryn. After all, why had he rejected her in the first place? Simply because she wasn't like Kathryn. Well, maybe that was a good thing. Unlike Kathryn, Itzel hadn't made her intentions toward him opaque.

Yes. He would go see Itzel. He knew she would be pleased to see him, and Sekaya would be pleased by his choice, too.

Chakotay stood up resolutely, found his broad-brimmed hat, and put it on. As he left his room, he shot an apologetic look at his medicine bundle.

"I guess you're not completely useless," he admitted to the monkey.

And then he was out the door.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, an unhappy Chakotay was sitting on Itzel's front porch, after several attempts at knocking had failed to bring anyone to the door.

Just my luck. Nobody home.

Couldn't he just hear that little monkey chittering and laughing at him now? "You guessed wrong, brother. You went to the wrong house."

Wait. Maybe he didn't. Itzel might be at that little bar where they had first met. El Perro Marron. He should walk there and see. It wasn't far.

But when he got there, the bartender only shrugged when Chakotay asked if he had seen Itzel recently, and then went back to his work. This was less than helpful. Weren't bartenders supposed to know everyone in town? Weren't they supposed to be sympathetic listeners? Aggravated by the man's indifference, Chakotay left and wearily turned down the road back toward Sekaya's house, tilting his hat forward to block the glare from the setting sun. He had just wasted the whole evening on a wild goose chase.

He was shuffling carelessly through the dust on the side of the road, hands in pockets, when he spotted a hovercar in the distance, appearing wavery in the heat mirage. It was unusual to see a hovercar around here, and Chakotay frowned as he realized that it was halted in the middle of the road, with the hood up and someone leaning inside, looking at the machinery.

When he got close enough, Chakotay called out to the man under the hood.

"Broken down?" he asked.

The driver, dressed in a loose button-up shirt and a broad-brimmed hat much like Chakotay's, glanced up at him and smiled humorlessly. "So it would seem." He was a young man, with Mayan features, and appeared to be alone.

"Can I give you a hand?" Chakotay asked.

"Not unless you know more about hovercars than the last three people who walked by to offer their help," the young man replied. "I've called Mech Assist, but they said I didn't qualify as an emergency, so they couldn't approve a site-to-site transport to get a mechanic here. Apparently no one in Huatabampo is qualified to fix these things."

That didn't really surprise Chakotay. "It's going to take nearly an hour for them to get here from the transport station."

"Yeah, that's what they said. They didn't sound too happy about having to send someone out into the sticks, either. These modernists. They're softer than butter on a hot day." The man laughed, but he sounded more good-natured than bitter.

"Let me take a look," Chakotay said, coming over to look under the hood.

The young man looked at him in surprise. "Don't tell me you actually do know something about hovercars?"

Chakotay switched on the onboard computer and started scrolling through the readouts. "Engineering isn't really my specialty, and to be honest I haven't touched a hovercar in nearly a decade, but I know something about spacecraft, and I might be able to blunder my way through this."

"Oh, if you could get me going again, I would be very grateful," the man said eagerly. "I'm in a big hurry and I really didn't want to wait that long for a mechanic."

"What's the rush?" Chakotay asked.

"There's a baby on the way, and I'm hoping to get there in time."

"You're a doctor?" Chakotay asked, suddenly alarmed. He couldn't believe Mech Assist wouldn't consider that an emergency.

"Oh no, I'm the medicine man," the man said. "My name's Emetal, by the way."

Chakotay looked at him in surprise for a long moment. Emetal certainly didn't look like any medicine man Chakotay had seen before.

"What?" Emetal asked.

Chakotay cleared his throat. "Sorry. I guess I'm used to my medicine men looking a little more... wrinkled and gray. How old are you, 20?"

Emetal laughed. "23. What can I say? We have to start sometime."

"Guess so." Chakotay turned away from the computer display and started unlatching the casing for the anti-grav generator. "Looks like there's a power loss somewhere in here. Might be a faulty connector, or maybe a tetralubisol leak. Let's take a look." He found the hyperspanner stored under the hood and began testing each port.

"So, how does a medicine man end up traveling around his traditionalist community in a hovercar?" Chakotay asked conversationally as he worked.

Emetal shrugged. "I get called out all the time for births, deaths, illnesses, family fights, you name it. I figured, I can either go with the traditionalist flow and make people wait hours for me to show up, or I can risk offending a few people by zipping around in a hovercar. It worked out pretty well at first, but I failed to take into account how hard it would be to get this thing fixed." He gestured at the power conduits Chakotay was now pulling out and inspecting. "Where did you learn how to do all this?"

Chakotay hesitated a moment. "Starfleet Academy."

"No kidding. And you were insinuating a moment ago that I was the odd one."

Chakotay chuckled despite himself. "You got me there." He opened the cover of a circuit board, and raised his eyebrows. "Well, there's your problem right there." He bent down and blew all the dust out of it. "The casing on the anti-grav generator isn't sealed as tight as it should be. You got a lot of dust in there, and the engine ran out of tetralubisol trying to flush it out. The engine switched off automatically to keep you from burning it up."

Emetal looked anxious. "Is that hard to fix?"

"Not if you have an emergency kit in the the trunk that's stocked with tetralubisol. Then we'll just clean out the dust and fill it back up with lube. And sometime soon you should see about getting the innards of your engine weather-proofed better than they are now. I suspect this thing was designed by engineers who were picturing it being used in a nice clean modernist city, not off-roading out in the middle of nowhere."

Emetal hurried to the back of the hover car and found the kit. It took a few minutes, but before long Chakotay had the anti-grav generator cleaned out and refilled, and he told Emetal to try starting it up again.

The engine purred to life again, and the car lifted off the ground about a foot and hovered there. Chakotay lowered the hood and turned to Emetal, who had climbed out of the driver's seat and came back to the front of the car.

Emetal had taken off his broad-brimmed hat to start the hovercar. Chakotay took one look at him, grinned suddenly, and took off his own hat. They stared at each other for a moment and then said simultaneously: "Nice tattoo."

They both laughed.

"I thought I knew all the Rubber Tree People around here," Emetal said, slapping his shoulder affectionately. "I'm delighted to find another one! What's your name, and who do you belong to?"

"Chakotay. I stay here with my sister sometimes. Sekaya, and her husband Atl."

"Oh, yes, I've met them. Haven't headed out that way recently. I didn't realize they had relatives visiting. Where do you call home?"

It was a harmless, small-talk sort of question to ask, but Chakotay found himself at a total loss to answer it. What could he say to that? Dorvan 5? He hadn't lived there for decades. The Delta Quadrant? An unscheduled "vacation." Voyager? It wasn't his home anymore. Only his apartment in San Francisco was his own, but even that only felt like a stopping place on his way to... wherever it was he was going next. Chakotay realized his silence had just stretched into the awkward zone.

"That's... complicated," he confessed.

"Guess so," Emetal said, looking at him inquisitively. "Hey, I've got to go see about that baby. Why don't you jump in and come with me?"

"I checked the readouts," Chakotay said. "Your engine's all clear now. You shouldn't have any more problems getting there and back."

"I wasn't worried about the engine," Emetal said. "I was hoping to get to know you. Hop in."

"I don't even know the family," Chakotay protested. "I can't just show up for a birth-"

"We're all family, all of the Rubber Tree People," Emetal said with a sudden passion. "There are so few of us left, we have to be. And a baby... well, we have even more cause to rejoice over a birth than we did before. You have children of your own?"

Briefly, and not without regret, Chakotay thought of Seska's baby. "No."

Emetal nodded. "Well, if you ever do, we will throw you a celebration to remember," he promised with a grin. "Every wedding, every birth, means another chance for our traditions, our history, to be remembered and passed down. Tonight's birth is a joyful occasion. No one will mind if you come."

Chakotay felt a little odd about it, but there was no denying this meeting seemed providential. How many times in the Delta Quadrant had he wished he had access to a medicine man for guidance and advice? And with everything that had happened since he got home, he hadn't even thought to go looking for one.

He got in the hovercar, and answered a flood of questions from Emetal while they drove to a distant home several miles away from the village. As soon as Emetal figured out that Chakotay had been on the crew of Voyager, he nearly clipped a cactus.

"That was you? I've been hearing all kinds of things," he said eagerly. "All kinds of rumors. Did you really find the homeworld of the Sky Spirits?"

Chakotay started to tell Emetal about his experiences there, but he hadn't gotten far when they arrived at the house. The sun had now dipped below the horizon, and it was rapidly growing darker.

"You'll have to come over to my place sometime and tell me the whole story properly," Emetal said as they got out of the car and hurried up to the house.

An old man with gray hair that fell around his shoulders was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, and he lifted a hand in silent greeting to them.

"The baby?" Emetal asked him anxiously.

"The child has not arrived yet."

"And the mother?"

"She asked for a blessing. You can go in. The women are expecting you."

Emetal nodded seriously. "Kabil, this is my friend, Chakotay. Is it all right if he waits with you?"

The old man nodded and gestured at an empty chair on the porch, and Chakotay settled into it as Emetal set down his medicine bundle, reverently opened it, and began to make his preparations.

The medicine man selected several resin-coated sticks from a large bundle, and carefully lighted them. A thin stream of white smoke from the burning incense spiraled up into the air, and in moments Chakotay could smell the sharp, clean scent of copal.

It was an intensely familiar scent, one he had long been denied, and instantly it triggered memories within him, as varied and as diaphanous as the curls of smoke that were now rising skywards from Emetal's hands. The farewell ceremony the day he had left for Starfleet Academy. The offering Sekaya had made upon their father's death. The day he had received his tattoo. There were other days, too; other rituals from his childhood, growing faint in his aging memory, but all infused with the clear, clean scent of burning sap, the lifeblood of the copal tree, the thread that wove through his entire life.

Holding the smoking incense sticks between the fingers of one hand, Emetal picked up a small, heavy object from the medicine bundle with his other hand. The object was wrapped in a cloth, but Chakotay knew what it was: a rubber figure of She of the Jade Skirt, to watch over the birth as was traditional.

With his precious items in hand, Emetal quietly slipped through the front door. When it opened, Chakotay and Kabil could briefly hear a woman inside, moaning in pain, until the door swung shut and all was quiet again.

It was a testament to his long years in Starfleet that Chakotay's first thought was: with all the medical advances in the Federation, why would the mother choose to give birth that way? Why not use one of the many medicines available to make sure it was painless?

He remembered asking his mother that question, long ago, when he discovered she had done the same thing, not once but twice, giving birth to himself and to Sekaya. He distinctly remembered her reply, delivered with a casual shrug of the shoulder: "Pain doesn't kill you, Chakotay. It wakes you up."

Chakotay glanced over at Kabil. The old man's eyes were closed as he rocked gently in his chair. A warm, dry breeze briefly ruffled his gray hair and then died down again.

Almost as if sensing Chakotay's eyes on him, Kabil opened his eyes and looked over at him.

"Tell me about your family, Chakotay," he said.

And so Chakotay did, as the sun sank below the horizon. It seemed as good a way as any to pass the time. So he talked about growing up on Dorvan 5, and all about his mother and how she had died of a snake bite when he was 10, and he spoke of his father and his sister and her husband and their two sons, and all the troubles they'd had during the border dispute with the Cardassians. Kabil didn't say much, only breaking in to ask a question here and there. Mostly he just rocked in his chair, eyes closed, listening.

The conversation reached a lull. Kabil rocked for a few more minutes, and then suddenly asked, as though they had never stopped talking: "Did you forgive them?"

"Who?" Chakotay asked blankly.

"The ones who killed your father and your nephew. Did you forgive them?"

Chakotay paused for a long moment. "I... don't know."

Kabil nodded, eyes closed. "If you don't know, then you didn't."

Chakotay felt compelled to defend himself, although there had been no tone of accusation in Kabil's voice. "I'm not as angry as I used to be."

Kabil raised both eyebrows slightly. "Forgiveness isn't something you feel," he said quietly. "It's something you do."

Footsteps sounded inside the house, and then Emetal was back, slipping through the front door to rejoin them on the porch.

"The baby isn't here yet," he told Kabil. "It won't be long now, I think." Emetal perched on the porch railing and gazed out across the cacti dotting the gently rolling hills, just visible in the moonlight.

"Our ancestors," Kabil remarked to Chakotay, as though their conversation hadn't been interrupted, "were deeply wronged by invaders who came to their lands many centuries ago. Some of them did not forgive their enemies. And after all, why should they? The invaders did not deserve forgiveness. And so some of our ancestors retreated to what little land they had left and drowned their misery in alcohol and despair. It didn't hurt their enemies a bit, of course, but it took their own families generations to recover from that old bitterness."

Emetal nodded in agreement from his perch on the railing. "A sickness in spirit will poison everything in your life, from eating food, to working, to making love," he said slowly. "Nothing will be right again until you cure it."

There couldn't have been a better description of what Chakotay was feeling right now. But still there was something holding him back. It was so much simpler to believe that the Cardassians, or the Caretaker, or the cruelty of fate, were responsible for his current misery. Not his own hang-ups.

He was tempted to remain silent. Just let the subject drop, and go home as soon as Emetal could take him, and then continue on as he was. Probably everything would get better with time.

But Kathryn's words kept ringing in his ears: Don't be like me. Don't shut people out.

There were a thousand reasons why he shouldn't talk about his problems know. He barely knew Kabil and Emetal. It was late. They were undoubtedly eager to go home to bed as soon as the baby was born. They wouldn't understand his problems, or care about them. And yet… And yet...

"I need help."

Chakotay was almost startled by his own choice. He'd done it. He'd said the words out loud.

"With what?" Emetal asked, growing more attentive.

Chakotay let out a soft explosive of air. "Everything," he admitted.

Slowly, haltingly, he began to explain. About the Cardassians, and the loss of his home colony. About losing his Starfleet dream, and then his comrades in the Maquis. He told Emetal and Kabil about Kathryn - and it was terrifying, because he had never told anyone how he felt about her. But there was no judgement in their eyes, only understanding. And he told them of his fears, that he might be denied re-entry into Starfleet or even lose his freedom, thanks to his past.

When he was done, there was a long silence. To Chakotay's surprise, he found that he was not anxiously awaiting some great store of wisdom from either man. If they had advice, he was ready to hear it, but simply getting everything off his chest had left him feeling 50 pounds lighter.

"Listen to that," Emetal said suddenly.

The three of them lifted their heads, and from the depths of the house, they could hear a baby's thin wail.

"Grandfather! Grandfather!" They could hear footsteps inside the house, and then a young girl, maybe 10 or 11, suddenly poked her head out of the window and looked over at Kabil where he was sitting on the porch. "The baby's here! It's a little girl! Come and see her!"

Emetal didn't need to be told twice. He picked up his medicine bundle and hurried inside once again.

"Is she well?" Kabil asked.

The girl wrinkled her nose. "She's all messy, but Grandmother says she'll be pretty when she's washed and dressed. Come and see her!"

"I will wait until the women have completed their tasks," Kabil told his granddaughter gravely. "You had better go back and help your mother with whatever she needs. Thank you for coming to tell us the good news."

The girl ran off again. They heard a door open, and suddenly they could clearly hear Emetal's soft chanting accompanied by a rhythmic rattling. The baby was no longer crying, but they could hear a woman weeping and laughing at the same time. Then the door shut and the sounds were muted once more.

Kabil turned to Chakotay. "My son will name her Dorotaya," he said with satisfaction, "because she is a gift."

"I'm sure she is," Chakotay murmured.

* * *

When Emetal had finished with his duties, he walked with Chakotay back to the hovercar, with Kabil calling to both of them to come back and visit soon. And then Chakotay and Emetal were gliding across the darkness of the desert, with the hovercar's headlights cutting swaths of gold across the blackness of the night.

"I can take you back to your sister's house now," Emetal said to Chakotay as they drove. "Or, if you would rather… I have a tamazcal set up at my place. I could light some copal for you, and we could discuss some things. While you were talking, I had a few thoughts that I'd like to run past you. I know it's late, but I'd be glad to have you over."

Chakotay nodded gratefully. "I did say I needed help."

Emetal smiled. "Yes, you did. I just hope I can provide some."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Feel free to share._


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's note:** Thank you to lynnki, Wileret, Anon, Guest, and Juddysbuddy for your reviews! Always appreciated._

 **Chapter 11**

With Tuvok by her side, Kathryn was enjoying her walk down Market Street more than she had expected to; in fact, after a long day spent indoors, the fresh air and afternoon sunshine were enough to make her feel like a bird escaping from a cage.

The street was crowded with hover cars and pedestrians taking advantage of a welcome sunny day in San Francisco. Kathryn recognized many of the shops that she and Tuvok passed; it had been eight years since she had last strolled down the busy thoroughfare of Market Street, but it didn't look like much had changed. Just across the street she could see the Night Owl, a coffee shop she had frequented as a student at the Academy. And there in the distance was the iconic white clock tower of the Ferry Building, still standing more than three centuries after its construction, although the newer skyscrapers around it now dwarfed the structure.

As the elevated train whirred above their heads, briefly blocking out the sun, Kathryn turned to Tuvok with a mischievous look.

"It's a good day for destruction," she said.

Tuvok's eyebrow raised. "Indeed," he said, his voice as smooth and deep as ever, and Kathryn patted his arm with an approving smile. Whoever said Vulcans couldn't be good sports?

And there, just in time to satisfy her violent urges, was their destination.

Kathryn and Tuvok stepped into the comparative darkness of the building, and paused a moment to let their eyes adjust, as well as to get their bearings. Neither one of them had been to this targeting range before. Of course, they could have used one of the Starfleet ranges, but Kathryn was itching to escape the monotony of Headquarters for a little while, and so she had asked her assistant Chrissie to find another option.

After so many years of constant action in the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn was forced to admit she was having difficulty adjusting to what had essentially become a desk job, thanks to all these debriefings they had to endure. Maybe Tuvok was experiencing the same difficulty. Kathryn had been almost sure he would decline her invitation today, since his wife and children had taken up temporary accommodations on Earth and up until now Tuvok had been spending every moment of his off hours with them. But he had readily agreed.

Kathryn looked around the range with interest. She was surprised to see that nearly every booth was filled. There had always been some civilians who practiced with weapons simply as a hobby, of course, or because they lived on the edges of Earth's restored wildernesses and sometimes needed to protect themselves and their properties from predators. But she hadn't expected this facility to be so busy. Then Kathryn remembered something Owen Paris had told her: that after the Breen attack on San Francisco, there had been an upsurge of civilian interest in learning defensive techniques. Apparently many had realized that even on a peaceful Earth, bad things could still happen.

Kathryn and Tuvok approached the front desk and requested their weapons. The man disappeared into the back and when he reappeared, he was holding a bow and quiver in one hand and an ammo box in the other, with a long wooden rifle slung over his shoulder. He set everything down on the table and got out the safety equipment: eye and ear protection for Kathryn, and an arm guard for Tuvok.

When the man handed the rifle to Kathryn, she noticed that it was still warm to the touch; fresh out of the replicator, no doubt. This model must not be in demand often enough to keep on hand. Not surprising, considering it was more than 400 years old. She herself hadn't been familiar with this type of gun until she'd been shot in the leg by one during the Hirogen takeover of Voyager. After that, she'd made it a point to research it.

Now, seeing it again, her thoughts were inevitably drawn to France, 1944. By the time she had met "Captain Miller" on the holodeck, she had been liberated from the Hirogen's neural interface and knew herself to be Kathryn Janeway and not "Katrine," the holographic character who owned a French cafe called Le Coeur de Lion. But Chakotay hadn't recognized her, since he was still convinced that he was an American soldier tasked with leading the attack against Nazi forces in Sainte Claire.

Chakotay had behaved according to his character's parameters, of course, as his neural interface required, but in some indefinable way he had remained himself, too. She had taken note of that the moment Captain Miller had called Katrine "mademoiselle" in the same gentle tone that Chakotay had always used to call her "Kathryn" when the two of them were off-duty and alone together.

Despite the mess the whole French Resistance had made of their ship, after the crisis was over Chakotay and Kathryn had admitted to each other that they both missed carrying the guns their characters had used. Somehow Chakotay had convinced her to add Captain Miller's 1917 Colt revolver and the Mauser Karabiner 98K rifle to Voyager's holographic arsenal. Over the past several years, every now and again the urge would strike them again, and they would spend an hour or two side by side on the holodeck, gleefully blowing holes in targets.

Kathryn ran her fingers down the smooth wooden stock of her rifle and smiled to herself at the memory.

"Perhaps we should have invited Commander Chakotay," Tuvok said, settling his quiver securely across his back.

It was all Kathryn could do not to lift her eyebrow at him, Vulcan-style. How did he know she was thinking of Chakotay? Sometimes she could swear that Tuvok could read her mind without even touching her face.

But no, she reassured herself, it was only because Tuvok had once walked into one of their holographic shooting sessions to ask Kathryn a question about the duty roster. The odd sight of Chakotay wearing a World War II flak helmet - Kathryn had insisted that he didn't look right shooting that revolver without the helmet to go with it, and Chakotay had good-naturedly gone along with it - must have been seared into Tuvok's memory.

"I _did_ invite Chakotay," she admitted to Tuvok. "But he had an appointment with his attorney he couldn't miss."

"I see."

Kathryn hesitated a moment, and then said," Mark is coming."

Did Tuvok's eyebrow twitch upward? "Indeed," he said, his voice as steady as ever.

For some reason, she felt the need to explain. "I was going to meet him for coffee at the Night Owl after this, but he called a little while ago and said his faculty meeting was canceled, so he's coming early and meeting me here. We can still shoot. He said he didn't want to interrupt my plans with you. He's just going to watch."

"Very well," Tuvok said.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked suddenly.

Tuvok finished tying the now-taut string on his bow. "As always, it is my wish that you should be happy, Captain," he replied.

It was an enigmatic response from a man who was fond of answering questions with a straightforward "yes" or "no," and Kathryn found herself glancing over at Tuvok repeatedly as they strolled through the range, heading past rows of civilians firing phasers, to get to the projectile-weapon section. Vulcan emotional control could be both a blessing and a curse, Kathryn thought. It almost seemed like Tuvok was out of sorts about the change in plans, but maybe she was just projecting her human assumptions on him unfairly. As Tuvok had told her repeatedly over the years, he had no ego to bruise.

They came to an empty booth, and Kathryn set her rifle against the wall and stepped back as Tuvok took off his uniform jacket and strapped on his arm guard. She would go practice on her own in a little while, but she couldn't resist the chance to watch Tuvok in action for a few minutes. For some reason, watching Tuvok on the archery range engendered the same feelings of awe and admiration that Kathryn often felt when watching her sister bring someone to life on a sketchpad. She had never really understood how an act that was inherently violent became a kind of meditation in Tuvok's hands, but she didn't question it. It was just how Tuvok was.

He had chosen a simple recurve bow, and now he held it firmly in his right hand, fitting an arrow to the string with his left. Taking a deep breath, Tuvok kept his dark eyes fixed calmly on the target as he pulled back the string until his knuckles grazed his left cheek. Another slow breath, and he released the string with a snap, the arrow swiftly embedding itself in the target 20 yards away. A beautiful shot.

Tuvok drew another arrow and prepared to take aim. The first arrow had struck the side of the target, but Kathryn knew from experience that once Tuvok's muscles were warmed, he would begin hitting it closer and closer to the center, until finally he would have to move the target back in order to challenge himself.

She leaned back against the wall and lost herself in Tuvok's quiet artistry for several minutes. When he had spent all the arrows in his quiver, Tuvok tapped a control and stepped back to wait for his arrows to be returned.

"I'm glad you agreed to come," Kathryn told him while they waited. "But I was surprised. You've been spending every moment of your off hours with your wife and children."

"Indeed."

"Making up for lost time?" she asked gently.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "That would be impossible."

Stung by Tuvok's matter-of-fact statement, Kathryn had to rapidly blink away the moisture that suddenly blurred her vision. Tuvok paused and scrutinized her silently for a moment, and then said:

"My apologies, Captain. I was speaking in a scientific sense: time is linear, and once it has passed it cannot be reclaimed. I did not intend to convey criticism of your decision to destroy the Array."

"I know, Tuvok," Kathryn said quickly, trying to restrain her emotions. She had reluctantly realized years ago, after their trip through the Void had concluded, that it wasn't doing anyone any good to continue beating herself up over decisions that had long ago come and gone, and she had done her best since then to abide by that choice, as tempting as it sometimes was to return to that old, familiar guilt. "I know. But it's true the other way too, isn't it? You missed eight years of your children's lives. Years you can never get back."

"Perhaps," Tuvok said. He gazed at her steadily, and as she met his dark eyes, she was surprised to see a softness behind them. "I do not regret being part of our journey to the Delta Quadrant, despite the personal difficulties it entailed," he said. "But Captain, you should know that I blame no one but myself for the separation my family endured."

" _You_?" Kathryn blurted out, startled. It had never occurred to her that _Tuvok_ would feel any guilt for what happened. Hadn't she been the one to give the order to destroy the Array?

Tuvok folded his hands in a meditative pose, a gesture Kathryn had learned often indicated inner turmoil in her Vulcan friend. "In retrospect," Tuvok continued quietly, "it was reckless of me to accept an undercover mission in the Badlands without fully considering the consequences to my family if I did not return. The responsibility for that decision rests on my shoulders alone. I should have given more thought to my duties as a husband and a father, which - unlike my Starfleet duties - cannot be adequately completed by anyone other than myself."

Kathryn nodded slowly. "I understand why you would feel-" She paused. "-why you would _think_ that way. No one could ever replace you. But Tuvok, from what I've seen of your children, I think T'Pel did as well as could be expected in your absence. They seem well-behaved. Well-educated. Content, even."

Tuvok nodded slowly, and when he spoke again, his voice was a shade huskier than normal. "T'Pel is... a fine woman. She made many sacrifices to ensure our children's well-being."

Almost imperceptibly, Tuvok returned to his customary ramrod-straight posture, and continued more firmly, "It is my intention that she should not have to make such sacrifices again. I can no longer be so careless of my own safety as to accept high-risk assignments, at least until my daughter Asil has reached adulthood. I came with you today, Captain, because I wished to communicate this fact to you."

"No more high-risk assignments? Tuvok…" Realization slowly dawned on Kathryn. "Are you saying… that you don't want to work security for me anymore?"

She held her breath, almost certain that she had misunderstood him, but Tuvok dashed her hopes a moment later by stating without hesitation: "My desires cannot be my only consideration. I must consider my family's well-being. There are many in Starfleet who could provide security on a starship. My children have only one father."

"Oh, Tuvok…" This time, all the blinking in the world couldn't stop the tears from sliding down Kathryn's cheeks. "But where would you go? What would you do?"

"I have given thought to the matter over the last several years," Tuvok said. "I intend to return to teaching."

Teaching! She wanted to ask if he meant the Vulcan Institute or Starfleet Academy, both schools where Tuvok had spent years teaching before accepting her invitation to join Voyager's senior staff, but then she realized it hardly mattered. Either way, it meant she would see him only rarely. She stared blindly across the aisle at the civilians firing their weapons. Oh, she had known that things like this would start to happen now that they were home, but Tuvok… not Tuvok! She had counted on him to remain beside her.

Tuvok waited patiently by her side until she was able to get a better handle on her emotions. Finally, she dried her cheeks on her sleeve and turned back to him. "I understand, Tuvok… I know. Your family has to come first. I won't try to talk you out of it. But just let me be selfish for a moment. I'm afraid I don't know how to run a starship without you."

"You are more than capable of running a ship under whatever circumstances may arise," Tuvok said simply. "I believe you have demonstrated that comprehensively."

His vote of confidence meant more to her than he would ever know, but even still…

"Captain-" Tuvok said, and then he hesitated.

That hesitation, following such a blunt statement of his intention to resign from active duty, managed to catch Kathryn's attention despite her self-pity. What on earth could Tuvok have left to say that would cause him to hesitate?

"What is it, old friend?" she said, her curiosity driving out caution.

"It occurred to me," Tuvok said, "that perhaps you yourself would not be returning to space."

"Me?" Kathryn said, taken aback. Surely Tuvok could not know that she had been offered, unofficially, a step up in rank and a permanent posting at Starfleet Headquarters. Admiral Hayes had told her that in the strictest of confidences… he wasn't even supposed to have told _her_ yet. And although she had been giving the idea serious thought, she wasn't at all sure she was ready to give up the excitement of service in space, even if she was burned out for the moment. She had a pretty good idea that the old restless spirit would return to her before long, once she had gotten a proper rest. It always did.

"In favor of spending time with your family," Tuvok added.

Family? Kathryn tried to cover her confusion. It was good to see her mother and Phoebe, of course, but they had their own lives to live, and now that they knew she was alive and well and she could speak to them at any time and even come home for visits, there was hardly a need for her to take a break in her career to be with them. Unless…

Suddenly she remembered that Tuvok had been privy to her career plan from before their adventures in the Delta Quadrant. She had intended to take a break to have a child with Mark after serving as Voyager's captain for three years, and she had shared her intentions with Tuvok the day she asked him to be her tactical officer, wanting him to have all the available facts before he agreed to leave his teaching assignment at the Academy to serve with her again. Was _that_ what Tuvok was referring to? He knew that she was seeing Mark again. Maybe he assumed that their arrangement was back on, after an eight-year delay.

Or…

Tuvok knew how she felt about Chakotay, too. Probably. They had shared a mind-meld the very day that she had confessed her love to Chakotay, on a day when she had been full of hope that she could put Chakotay in command of the Equinox and finally be free to have a relationship with him without fear of complicating the command structure. Those hopes had been quickly dashed, but she was almost certain that Tuvok had become aware of them during the mind-meld. They had never spoken openly of it, but Tuvok had been unusually sensitive to her emotional needs ever since that day, particularly during the times when Chakotay was gone on a dangerous Away Mission, or injured in Sickbay. She could not have imagined _that_. He must know how she felt about Chakotay. He must.

She stared at Tuvok, trying to read his unreadable expression to figure out if he was anticipating her turning down a space assignment for Mark, or for Chakotay. And which one was she hoping for?

And why should she care so much which man _Tuvok_ was envisioning her with? Was she hoping for a clue? She realized in the next instant she was being ridiculous. How the hell could Tuvok be expected to know what she wanted, when she herself did not?

"I apologize, Captain," Tuvok said, and she realized the silence had grown long enough to be awkward. "I did not mean to pry."

"No," she said slowly. "You didn't. I'm just… not sure what's coming next for me."

Tuvok studied her face carefully for a long moment, and then his eyes slid past hers and focused on something behind her. The next moment, Kathryn felt a hand on her arm and she jumped involuntarily, startled by the intrusion.

"Sorry, Kath," Mark said swiftly, chuckling. "I thought you heard me coming." She turned to see that he was dressed in slacks and a sports coat, looking every inch the college professor.

"Oh, Mark, you're here," she said stupidly, trying to recover her equilibrium. On her other side, Tuvok lowered his bow and came to stand by them both.

"Professor," Tuvok said politely.

"Tuvok," Mark said, holding out his hand to shake. "It's been quite a while. How are you? How are the wife and kids?"

"They are well, thank you," Tuvok said. "How are your classes this semester?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Don't let me break your concentration, Tuvok," Mark added quickly. "I didn't mean to interrupt. We'll get out of your way now and I'll watch Kathryn shoot."

Kathryn picked up her rifle and ammo box, but suddenly she was all nerves, for reasons she couldn't explain. Maybe she should have told Mark to keep to the original plan, and meet her at the Night Owl. Maybe...

"Would you like me to accompany you, Captain?" Tuvok asked blandly. "Perhaps I can offer assistance in improving your aim."

Improve her aim, when she knew this weapon far better than Tuvok did? Kathryn stared at Tuvok in consternation. He must have sensed her reluctance to be alone with Mark… how? They hadn't even been touching...

"No, no need, Tuvok," she said quickly. "I can manage."

"As you wish, Captain," Tuvok said serenely, and he lifted his bow once again and stretched the string back to his pointed ear.

Moving decisively, Kathryn took Mark's arm and headed back to the firearms section.

"How was your day?" she asked Mark, eager to fill the silence. Luckily, Mark seemed eager to talk.

"Oh, I had a terrific conversation today with Professor Hofmann today about aesthetics," he said readily.

"For a class?"

"No, we were just thrashing it out over lunch. We tend to do that. We were trying to settle on the difference between the beautiful and the sublime."

" _Is_ there a difference between the beautiful and the sublime?" Kathryn asked, spotting an empty booth and heading for it. "I thought they were synonyms."

"Depends on who you ask," Mark said. "I say they _can_ be the same, but not always. The sublime involves the quality of greatness, so some things can be great and beautiful, while other things might be great and terrible. It depends on the eye of the beholder, as you might say."

Kathryn set her ammunition on a table. "And what does Professor Hofmann say?"

"Well, he's a fan of Burke," Mark said. "That should tell you all you need to know. _He_ thinks beauty and sublimity are mutually exclusive. One brings pleasure, and the other is born of pain."

"I'm not sure I follow," Kathryn said. "Here, hold this." She handed the rifle to Mark so she could free her hands to don her safety glasses.

"This can't be a phaser," Mark said, staring at the long wooden rifle as he held it gingerly in both hands. He seemed relieved when Kathryn took it back from him.

"No," she said, opening the bolt with a practiced hand and then selecting a stripper clip from the box. "It's a bolt-action rifle. The kind the Germans used in the 20th century."

Mark watched in silence as she loaded the rounds into the magazine, removed the empty strip and closed the bolt.

"Since when do you shoot antiques?" he asked. "No, wait, let me guess. You learned in the DQ."

"Remember those hunters I told you about, the Hirogen?" Kathryn said. "They put us in a holodeck simulation where we were fighting as members of the French Resistance, and I got to shoot one of these. Watch this." She put on her ear protection, adding: "You might want to cover your ears."

She raised the rifle, braced the butt firmly against her shoulder and took careful aim through the sight. After a few calming breaths, she fired.

The rifle bucked against her shoulder, and the sharp retort of the chamber firing echoed loudly through the range. Many of the other shooters paused to look over at them.

Kathryn lowered the rifle and ruefully rubbed her sore shoulder. "Bit more visceral than a phaser, isn't it?" she said with a smile, glancing over at Mark as he nodded in agreement.

She aimed at the target again, and slowly and deliberately fired again and again until the clip was empty. Then she lowered the rifle, removed her ear protection and looked over the target, feeling satisfied with the results. Her shots were grouping nicely.

"I'm confused," Mark said. "Did you say you used this gun fighting Nazis, or the Hirogen?"

"Both," Kathryn said, picking up another stripper clip. "He was the Beta of the Hirogen hunting pack, playing the role of a Nazi soldier."

"You mean... you shot an actual _person_ with this gun?"

Kathryn paused again to look over at him.

"No, I shot him with a holographic representation of this gun," she said. "And he shot _me_ with it first. I decided not to give him a second chance."

"I see," Mark said after a beat.

Thinking back on it, Kathryn could feel a wave of emotion building inside her, intense enough to warm her cheeks like a flush. It was an echo of what she had felt as the Beta stalked her through the corridors of Voyager: some combination of fear and fury and a rock-hard determination to survive. It was a familiar feeling, one she often experienced during battles, so she let it wash over her freely as she reloaded, this time closing the bolt without bothering to remove the strip.

She raised the rifle and began to fire again, more rapidly this time, working the bolt with practiced hands after each shot and pulling the trigger the moment she could re-acquire the target.

There was something so satisfying about the noise and the recoil, something she didn't get from firing a phaser. Chakotay had once compared it to the difference between a child's 2-D piloting simulation and actually piloting a shuttle through space, with all the bumps and vibrations and danger that came with it. Her accuracy was not as good when she fired this quickly, but nonetheless she was enjoying herself immensely. After she fired the last round, she began to reload without thinking, and then realized she had almost forgotten Mark was still standing there.

"Want to try?" she offered, holding the rifle out to him.

He didn't move to take it. "Can we go now?" he asked.

Kathryn appraised him closely - she knew that expression oh-so-well - and then said, "I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I?" She turned to face him directly. "I'm sorry, I don't remember you having an aversion to firearms."

"No, it isn't the weapons," Mark said quickly. "I may not be used to them, but I know you have to defend yourself out there. I just... I don't know why you would ever want to see this particular gun again, after something like that happened. With the… with the hunter you fought."

Kathryn looked at him for a long moment. "Sometimes you can't make yourself forget things like that," she said at last. "No matter how much you try to avoid reminders. Sometimes it's easier to just decide that you're not going to let the bad memories stop you from making good ones. I enjoy shooting this rifle. I refuse to let some foolish hunter with a death wish stop me from doing something I enjoy."

Mark still looked unsettled. Kathryn turned to face him fully, and explained in terms he could understand.

"This gun," she said, holding it in two hands, "is what you might call 'great' and 'terrible.' It isn't beautiful, but it is sublime. Understand?"

"Well," Mark said slowly. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I'll have to think about that."

Kathryn looked at him with narrowed eyes. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

"I'm fine," Mark said.

"No, you're not," she said.

"I am," he insisted. "I'm just... adjusting my expectations. I came here thinking I was going to spend the evening with Kathryn, and instead I found Captain Janeway waiting for me."

Kathryn was silent for a while, busying herself with polishing her fingerprints off the barrel of the rifle. Finally, she responded.

"You make me sound like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," she said.

"I didn't mean it like that," Mark said. "I'm thinking of you. I know how stressed out you get when you don't leave work at work."

She wasn't sure why she was feeling so annoyed with this conversation when she knew perfectly well that he was right: she _did_ have a habit of bringing work home with her, and it was Mark more than anyone who had taught her the skill of dropping the captain persona as readily as she could shed her uniform at the end of the workday.

This was her cue to stop talking about battlefields and resume talking about philosophical aesthetics, a mental switch she had made so many times before during her years with Mark that it was now second nature, but for some reason unknown to her, the next words out of her mouth were:

"You don't."

Mark gave her a puzzled look.

"Leave work at work," Kathryn clarified. "You don't do that. Last week you started debating me in the middle of a restaurant."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it bothered you," Mark said.

"It didn't," she said. "It's who you are. I like that about you." She paused. "Taking my work home doesn't stress me out, Mark. And I'm just one person. Kathryn _and_ captain." She paused, remembering what "Captain Miller" had said about Katrine, and a smile touched her lips. "No matter which way you look at me, I guess I'm just a gung-ho kind of gal."

"Gung-ho gal?" Mark's brow creased with confusion. "What does that mean?"

Kathryn raised the rifle and squinted down the sight. "It means I'm not like the girls back home."

* * *

"Why do you think it bothered you so much?" Joan asked. "Having Mark differentiate between Kathryn and Captain Janeway like that?"

"Because," Kathryn said, putting down her coffee cup with a clunk and meeting her counselor's eyes firmly, "it isn't as though I'm only one or the other at any given moment."

"Although," she added more slowly, "to tell you the truth… I used to be."

"When was that?" Joan asked.

Kathryn blew out a slow breath. "I suppose it started when I switched to the command track. In training they tell you that as a leader, you have to put on a professional front so that the others feel they can depend on you. Getting too familiar with subordinates leads to a breakdown in discipline. Over the years, I just… learned to compartmentalize myself. When I was assigned to a mission, I was all business. Then I would go on leave, and I could go home to my family - and later to Mark - and I could be myself for a little while. It became the rhythm of my life."

"So what changed?" Joan asked.

"Voyager," Kathryn said simply. "Due to circumstances out of my control, I no longer had any designated times or places to be just-Kathryn. I didn't notice it at first. I spent the first year or so as Captain Janeway, doing what I had always done. But over time I could feel the stress mounting, and the reality started to sink in that until we came back home, I would never be able to take leave again. Oh, there was always a day or two of shore leave on the odd planet here and there, or an hour or two on the holodeck, but even then, I had no one to…" Her voice hitched a little. "No one to go home _to_."

"No chance to take 'Kathryn' out for a little fresh air," Joan finished softly.

Kathryn nodded wearily. "Exactly. I didn't cope with it well. I got frustrated. Short-tempered. And then our resident Talaxian must have noticed the problem, and apparently decided to become my solution, because he suddenly started getting familiar with me whenever he saw me outside of staff meeting, trying to talk to me more like a friend than a captain. Once, he managed to drag out of me what my favorite dessert was, and then he took me down to the Mess Hall late that night and attempted to make my mother's caramel brownie recipe, all the while trying to wheedle even _more_ personal information out of me."

"You didn't like it?" Joan asked.

Kathryn smiled a little. "It was very sweet of him. Very...thoughtful. I resisted at first because, as I said, I was trying to put on a professional front for my crew. But at some point, I convinced myself that Neelix didn't really count, since he wasn't in uniform, and I let him see Kathryn sometimes. And Kes too…" She felt her heart throb painfully, as it always did when she thought of Kes. "She was very young. Very trusting. It made it almost frighteningly easy to talk to her. I even talked to her about Mark sometimes. I had just reached a point with Kes when she was the first one I thought of when I needed to be Kathryn for a while… and then she left us." She laughed a little bitterly. "But by then the damage was done. 'Kathryn' started popping up anywhere and everywhere, in the most inappropriate places. I couldn't seem to contain her anymore."

"For example?"

"I'm almost embarrassed to say," Kathryn admitted. "One day I let Neelix talk me into dancing 'The Dying Swan' in front of the entire crew for a talent show, if you can believe that. Not long after that, Chakotay committed me to having dinner with him once a week and forbade me to talk about work, which forced me to be Kathryn for a whole evening at a time. Then one day I found myself cracking jokes with Tuvok about mating rituals… _on the Bridge_. Things went downhill from there. I won't even tell you about the day I dressed up like the Queen of the Spider People for my helmsman's holodeck program. "

Joan smiled appreciatively. "I bet your crew loved that."

Kathryn shook her head ruefully. "I don't know if _they_ loved it… but I did. At some point, I lost track of when I was Kathryn and when I was Captain. I was both, almost all the time. And now the two of them are hopelessly entangled, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to get them apart again."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Joan asked.

"I think it is for Mark," Kathryn said softly. "I don't think he knows Captain Janeway, not really. She's never been anything more than an abstraction for him."

"Maybe this will be his chance to get to know that side of you."

"Maybe." But Kathryn felt uneasy in a way that was difficult to define. Mark had lived his entire life in the safety of Earth's atmosphere. Could he ever truly understand the environment that had shaped her into what she now was? There were times during the debriefings when she sensed that even the admirals in the room, despite being personally acquainted with the dangers of open space, did not fully appreciate the severity of the trials that everyone on Voyager had endured, and the changes it had wrought in them. If they could not understand, how could Mark? Could anyone other than the other Voyagers ever truly know who Kathryn Janeway had become?

In a way, it was her own fault. After Justin's death, she had intentionally held herself aloof from any Starfleet officers who had shown interest in her in the hopes that the next romance would be with a civilian - someone whom she could depend on to stay safe and sound while she went out into the danger alone. She had found that security, and so much more, with Mark. She could hardly complain now that he didn't know the spacefaring life as she did. She had walked into this relationship with her eyes wide open.

The question was, had he?

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** I'd be glad to know what you think!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Enveloped in the familiar sensation of a transporter beam, Chakotay watched as one transporter room dissolved in front of his eyes, only to be replaced bit by bit by a new one. Gradually, the head-to-toe tingling faded away, and he was fully _there_ , safe and sound and once more solid.

Automatically, he looked over at Sekaya, who could not quite suppress a visible shudder as she stepped off the transporter pad. She had been transported so rarely in her life that she had never grown accustomed to the sensation.

"You okay?" Chakotay asked.

"Fine," she said briefly, although she was drawn in on herself, with her arms folded protectively across her chest. Discomfort from the transport, or anxiety over what they were about to do? It was hard for Chakotay to tell.

The transport technician took two bulky snowsuits out of a storage compartment and handed them to Chakotay and Sekaya.

"What's this?" Sekaya asked, taking hers reluctantly. "We don't have to go outside, do we?"

"You'll be escorted to the bunker on foot," the technician said. "The guards are waiting in the next room to take you."

"They wouldn't keep the transporter room anywhere near the prisoners," Chakotay explained to a confused Sekaya as he held out the snowpants for her to step into. "The weather acts as a natural deterrent for escape attempts."

Sekaya didn't look happy about it - she had always lived in warm climates and did not tolerate cold well - but she gamely let Chakotay help her bundle up, and then pulled the thermal flap across her own face, so that only her eyes showed through the goggles.

When Chakotay was ready as well, the technician sent them into the next room, where a pair of guards briefly explained the procedure and then led them outside.

The midday sun was blindingly bright, reflecting off the vast snowfield that stretched between them and the towering peaks of Mount Logan, but their goggles reacted quickly and dimmed the light to a comfortable level. Chakotay could feel his boots squeaking in the snow as they set off toward the low bunker in the distance. The wind kicked up a fine glitter of snow into the air.

"Negative 25 degrees Fahrenheit," one of their guards commented, his voice muffled by his thermal flap, as he looked down at the readout on the wrist of his suit. "Another balmy spring day in the Yukon."

It was a long trudge through the snow, and before it was over, Chakotay could feel the cold beginning to creep in even through his thermal suit. Fortunately, they arrived at the bunker just as things were becoming uncomfortable, and gratefully he and Sekaya stepped into the warm air of the annex and shucked off their snowsuits.

Apparently the walk had been long enough to give Sekaya enough time to realize exactly what she had gotten herself into. She looked so distressed as the uniformed men carried out their snowsuits that Chakotay had to ask: "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sekaya seemed to steel herself. "I am if you are."

"Because you don't have to," Chakotay said, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her closely.

"Emetal thought it might help."

"He said it's helped others like us, yes."

Sekaya lifted her chin. "Then we should go."

The guards led them deeper into the facility, passing through several security checkpoints on the way. Their bodies were scanned and identities checked at each one. Finally, they were escorted into the warden's office, where he invited them to sit down and then regarded them seriously across the desk.

"The laws of the Federation grant you the right to face Dolak," the warden said. "He's required to sit and listen to you if he wants to keep certain privileges that he's currently enjoying, but I can't guarantee you that he'll be polite, or even respond to anything you say."

"We understand," Sekaya said.

"And one more thing." The warden looked Chakotay straight in the eye. "I will not have fistfights in my prison. You understand? Say what you want, yell if you want, curse if you want, but if you so much as lay a finger on him, I'll have my men in there in a millisecond to drag you out by your collar."

"I understand," Chakotay said.

"I know you're already facing charges of your own, and believe me, you do not want to add prisoner assault to the list."

"I understand," he repeated.

The warden looked them both over one more time and then nodded to the guards at the door. "Take them in."

They were taken through the last security checkpoint and shown into a small meeting room. Chakotay went in first, with Sekaya following him closely. Inside, there were three chairs and a table. Sitting in one of the chairs, with his ankles shackled to the floor and his wrists shackled to the table, was a Cardassian man.

He had a thin face, with unusually prominent ridges on his forehead and around his eyes, leaving him with a gaunt appearance. He had thick lips and a weak chin. Chakotay had seen Dolak's holoimage before this, but to his surprise the man looked smaller than he had thought. Perhaps it was due to the form-fitting jumpsuit he was wearing, rather than the blocky armor Cardassian soldiers usually wore.

Chakotay moved to seat himself across from the prisoner. Sekaya followed him, moving slowly, reluctantly, until she too sank down on the very edge of the hard chair, as though readying herself to make a run for it. Not for the first time, Chakotay questioned whether it was a good idea to bring Sekaya. Her bitterness ran so deep; would she be able to bear this? Would it do more harm than good? In the end he had trusted Atl's judgement, who had said quietly but firmly that Sekaya was strong enough to go if that's what she chose to do.

Dolak regarded them both with his hands folded on the table, but said nothing. Taking a deep breath, Chakotay went first, as they had planned.

"Let me tell you a story, an ancient legend among my people," he said. "It's about an angry warrior who lived his life in conflict with the rest of his tribe. A man who couldn't find peace, even with the help of his spirit guide, and so he left his tribe to wander in the wilderness, searching for his purpose."

Sekaya smoothly took up the narrative. "He left behind a sister, a woman who loved her home and her family more than life itself. One day a band of bloodthirsty warriors came upon the tribe. They destroyed the village and took the land for themselves, following the orders of a warrior named Dolak."

Dolak was looking at her through heavy-lidded eyes, and showed no reaction to hearing his own name spoken. Sekaya pressed on.

"The woman was forced to flee with her husband, her two sons, and her father. The warriors who were supposed to protect the tribe chose to do nothing." Sekaya could not keep the tremble of rage out of her voice, and she glanced involuntarily up at the guards flanking the door, who wore the starry Federation logo on their uniforms.

Dolak continued to sit in silence, his face a blank mask. Chakotay wondered if he was even hearing the words, or if he had learned by now how to tune out the pain of his accusers.

"The elders of the tribe decided to take their home back," Sekaya continued. "The woman's husband and her father were not warriors, but they prepared to fight. Her oldest son wanted to fight, but they told him he was too young, so he climbed a tree to stand sentry. The woman and her younger son hid by the river with others in the tribe. They were close enough to hear the screams when the fighting started."

Sekaya's eyes were moistening, and her voice sounded raw. She struggled for a second or two to contain her emotion, and Chakotay put one hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. Finally, Sekaya pressed on valiantly.

"The tribe did not have enough weapons. The fighting was over quickly. Soon those who were hiding by the river heard the sound of many feet, and then Dolak's men came and captured them. They already held as prisoners the survivors from those in the tribe who went to fight. The woman's husband was among them, bloodied but alive. He told the woman that her father was dead." Sekaya impatiently smeared at the tears that suddenly flowed down her cheeks. Her other hand tightened in Chakotay's with a vice-like grip.

"Dolak's men forced them to march to a ship that would desert them on a world far from their home," Sekaya said, her voice strained with emotion. "As the woman and her husband walked, they passed under the tree where their son had stood watch. They could see his body tangled in the branches where he had been shot." Sekaya's face convulsed, and she was no longer attempting to hide her rage. "The woman and her husband pleaded with their captors, but they would not let them retrieve their son. Instead, they disposed of his body by vaporizing it."

Sekaya could not speak anymore. She permitted herself a few sobs, bitter but short-lived; she had long ago learned how to let herself grieve, but she would only let it go on for so long. Then she let go of Chakotay's hand to wipe her face with her sleeve. Chakotay gave his sister a minute to compose herself, and then he picked up the narrative.

"When the angry warrior, still wandering in the wilderness, heard that his father and his nephew were dead, he blamed himself," Chakotay said. "He knew he should have been there to protect them." Sekaya's hand, cool and clammy, took his hand once again and squeezed it reassuringly. "And so the angry warrior swore revenge. He marked himself with the symbol of his tribe and he sought out the bloodthirsty warriors, killing them anywhere and any way he could. Once he fought one of Dolak's men, who boasted of helping to destroy the angry warrior's tribe. The angry warrior killed him with his own hand, but still the anger consumed him."

Chakotay rubbed his hand across his ribs, feeling the old scar through the thin material of his shirt, feeling once more the pain of the mevak's edge, seeing once more the surprise on the face of the Cardassian soldier as Chakotay had returned the blade to him, point first.

"In the end," Chakotay said quietly, "it was only the spirits who could cool his rage, by spiriting him far away from the battlefield where he was forced to join another tribe, one that taught him old lessons he had once known: selflessness, and leadership, and a sense of wonder. At last, he began to know true peace again. But when he made his way back home, he found that all the warriors who had fought by his side were dead. His quest for revenge had failed."

"It was good that the fighting was over, and that the enemy warrior responsible for his tribe's destruction had been delivered to justice. And so the angry warrior resolved that he would go and speak to this man, this Dolak, and ask him one question: _why_?"

Chakotay paused expectantly. Dolak stared at him, a hint of defiance in his dark eyes, and said nothing.

Beside him, Sekaya grew bold and leaned forward, her palms planted face down on the table.

"Why?" she demanded. When Dolak didn't respond, her cheeks flushed red. "Answer us! Why did you do it?"

Seconds stretched into minutes. Dolak kept his eyes fixed on a point on the wall, with his lips pressed together. The silence filled the room like a living presence.

They waited for a long time, but eventually, it became clear that Dolak wasn't going to answer.

Disappointed but not entirely surprised, Chakotay touched Sekaya's arm, and she nodded slowly and they both stood up to go. One of the guards turned to unseal the door for them.

"Once, there was a man named Dolak."

Sekaya and Chakotay paused in surprise, looking back to see Dolak looking at them steadily.

"He was a metalworker," the man said, his voice deep but quiet. "A husband and a father. A proud member of a glorious empire that had managed to gather enough of its dwindling resources to escape their limited world and begin to spread their children among the stars.

"But when they arrived at the new worlds they discovered that another, more prosperous empire had arrived many years before and had already taken all the best land. In fact, they had far more than they needed." A flash of contempt narrowed his eyes. "So the metalworker's empire took some of that land for themselves and put it to better use. At last, there was room enough to raise their children in peace and plenty. But instead of going back home to their own lands, the people of the prosperous empire kept fighting for the scraps of land the glorious empire had won for themselves." Dolak's tone was rising, and his eyes glinted with a strange light.

"And so the metalworker left his home and his business, and became a soldier. He went for the glory of his empire, and to win a fair share of the new lands for his own family. He thought that after a few years of danger and sacrifice, he and his family would be amply compensated. He rose in the ranks and earned a position of responsibility."

Suddenly Dolak was rising slowly to his feet, uncoiling from his seat like a snake, and instinctively Sekaya backed up until she was pressed against Chakotay, although Dolak was still shackled to the table.

"But when the erstwhile metalworker was captured by the prosperous empire, his name was covered in shame." Dolak was speaking in a vehement hiss, spittle spraying through clenched teeth. "Now his wife has married another man, and his children no longer call him father. He will never again see his home. He will never know freedom. He will never know peace. So forgive me-" His face spasmed, and his voice suddenly boomed out in tight fury. "-if I can't feel too sorry for you! Your Federation already had more than enough colonies to fill your needs. Perhaps if you were not so greedy, your father and your son would still be alive."

Sekaya's expression was outraged, and her anger overrode her fear. She stepped forward, trembling, and burst out: "Our elders offered to share the land with you; we made an agreement! It was _your_ people who broke faith-"

"You threw scraps to us as though we were dogs!" Dolak interrupted. "Do you suppose that a proud man, and a strong one, can or will endure being castrated by a self-indulgent people who cannot even find the courage to live in the wide-open spaces of Earth?" Contempt twisted his voice, and his flung his hand out meaningfully, although there were no windows out of which to see the beautiful desolation of the Kluane Icefield.

"We left our homeworld to preserve our way of life!" Sekaya cried.

"So did we!" Dolak snapped, enunciating every word clearly.

"Sekaya," Chakotay said quietly. "There'll be no convincing him. He sees only the injustices against himself. As do we. It's a viewpoint that's very..." He paused for a moment. "...human."

Sekaya took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and walked to the door without another glance at Dolak. Chakotay joined her just as the guards opened the door and let them out. In silence they left the prison, and it was not until they were bundled up and back outside in the icy air that they could relax.

"Are you sorry you came?" Chakotay asked Sekaya quietly as they walked back through the snow to the transporters, their escorts behind them.

She gazed out at the frozen peaks of Mount Logan in the distance, and slowly shook her head.

"No," she said. "I should have gone to his sentencing, years ago. I was offered the chance to make a statement in court with some of the others, but I... I just couldn't endure the thought of seeing his face." She paused for a long moment. "I should have been braver." Sekaya glanced up at him, her brow creased with concern. "What about you? How do you feel?"

Chakotay considered that. "Better," he said at last. "You're right. Emetal was right. This day was long overdue."

Sekaya pulled her hand out of her coat pocket and took his gloved hand in hers. "I'm glad we could do this together."

Chakotay squeezed her hand. "Me too."

They walked to the transporter pad together, and the technician punched in the coordinates for Huatabampo.

"You go ahead home," Chakotay told Sekaya. "I've got one more stop to make."

* * *

After Sekaya had disappeared from the transporter pad, Chakotay asked to be transported to the visitor's entrance of the medcenter in Shanghai. Fifteen minutes later, he was explaining what he wanted to Dr. Zimmerman, who led him past rows of regenerating ex-drones to an empty biobed and had him lay down.

Dr. Zimmerman paused a moment, the dermal regenerator buzzing in his hand. "Are you certain, Commander?" he asked. "You've always made your wishes clear about this."

Chakotay nodded. "I'm sure. It's time." He hitched up his shirt and felt the cool air wash against his bared skin.

"Very well," Dr. Zimmerman said. He passed the instrument over Chakotay's ribs, and a few seconds later, he straightened up.

"Done," he said.

So quickly? Chakotay sat up and rubbed his palm slowly over the smooth place where the Cardassian soldier had left that scar. He had expected to feel a pang of loss, but all he felt was a quiet relief.

It was over. All things were new again.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** The above is the type of scene I always wish I could have seen in the show: a concrete way for Chakotay to find closure regarding the pain and anger he held from his time in the Maquis. Feedback is welcome. Please feel free to leave a review._


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's note:** Thank you to Wileret, TrekDr, Guest, WalrusGirl47, Anon, Quirkette and lynnki for your kind reviews!_

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Kathryn had brought her umbrella from San Francisco, thinking it was likely she and Chakotay would need it in Lancashire as well, but when they stepped down from the transporter pad and turned the corner, they could see out the windows that it was only overcast here.

"Ah, Merry Old England," Chakotay said as they stepped outside, looking up at the grim gray sky with a wry expression on his face. "Although how anyone could be merry in English weather is a mystery to me."

"I suppose the locals are used to it," Kathryn said, hanging the umbrella strap on her arm in case they needed it later. "You've been spoiled by Sonoran weather."

"You're right. How long will it take to walk to the house?" Chakotay asked.

"About 20 minutes, I think. Why, in a hurry?"

"No, I was hoping for a chance to talk to you about B'Elanna, and this is as good a time as any," he said. "I spoke with her and Tom yesterday, and they agreed that I could tell you."

"Tell me what?"

As they walked through Lancashire's cobbled streets, Chakotay explained to her how B'Elanna's grief over the loss of her friends in the Maquis had triggered an episode of extreme recklessness on the holodeck several weeks ago, and how she'd been in counseling ever since. Horrified, Kathryn put her hand up to cover her mouth. She had noticed that B'Elanna had been subdued lately, but she'd had no idea it was as serious at that.

"Is she improving at all?" Kathryn asked when Chakotay had finished the story.

Chakotay hesitated. "Yes and no. She's cooperating with her counselor, and Tom keeps a close eye on her at home. I think it helps that she has little Miral to take care of now; it's motivation for her to get better. But she's worried about her trial, and it doesn't help matters that she doesn't have her daily routine in Engineering anymore. I think she feels a little… unmoored. I think that's why she's been spending her off-hours trying to track down her parents, but she still hasn't had any luck with that."

"Does that matter so much to her?" Kathryn asked thoughtfully.

"More than she'll admit," Chakotay said. "You remember the vision she had of her mother on the barge to Gre'thor? I think she thinks about that a lot. It weighs on her. I wish I could tell her to get some relief by going out into space to look for Miral, but..."

"...she's stuck planetside until the trial," Kathryn murmured. "What can I do to help her?"

"What you've always done," Chakotay said. "Just be there for her. I know B'Elanna doesn't always show it, but she does depend on your strength."

Kathryn nodded. "I'll have her and Tom over to dinner in Bloomington soon, and do what I can."

"I think they would appreciate that."

She locked eyes with him. "And what about you? How are you doing?"

"I'm hanging in there. One day at a time." Chakotay slowed his pace. "I think this is it."

They were at the home of Eleanor Williams, one of Crewman Frank Darwin's three sisters. It was a small cottage built in the style of the 18th century, surrounded by a white picket fence with clematis climbing all over it.

"Any idea what kind of reception we can expect here?" Chakotay asked, gazing at the home's lace-curtained windows.

"I'm not sure," Kathryn said. "Chrissie made all the arrangements with the Darwins. I guess we're about to find out."

"How did things go with Suder's family last week?" Chakotay asked.

They began walking down the winding path lined with rose bushes. "Better than you might think," Kathryn replied. "When Tuvok and I spoke with them, they weren't entirely surprised that Suder had snapped. They had already sensed years before that their son had some pretty severe problems, and despite their best efforts they hadn't been able to help him. If anything, they were grateful that Tuvok had helped him make some progress before his death, and they felt comforted that Suder absolved himself somewhat by helping us recover Voyager from the Kazon."

They knocked on the stout wooden door. In a few moments, it was opened by a woman in her early thirties, with wispy blonde hair pulled back in a bun.

"Is this the Williams home?"

"Yes, of course. You must be Captain Janeway. I'm Eleanor Williams. Please come in."

They followed the woman into a formal living room, where two other women waited. It was obvious that the three were sisters from the similarities in their faces. The brunette was introduced to them as Beatrice Moore, and the youngest sister - blonde like Eleanor but much younger, maybe only in her early twenties - as Maisie Darwin.

Maisie gestured politely for Kathryn and Chakotay to sit down on a sofa. As they sat, Kathryn noticed there was a large holopic of Frank Darwin on the mantelpiece, wearing his Starfleet uniform and smiling broadly for the camera. It was framed by two vases of fresh roses.

"I've been looking forward to your visit, Captain Janeway," Eleanor said in crisp tones as she sat down on a wing chair across from them. "Perhaps now you can explain to us how it is that you didn't know you had a killer on your ship until my brother was found dead in a Jefferies tube."

"Oh, _Eleanor_ ," Beatrice broke in in a shocked tone, but Kathryn forestalled her with an upraised hand.

"Believe me when I say that I've asked myself that question many times," Kathryn said gently. "I'm sure it was a terrible shock to you to hear the news last month. We felt much the same when we first realized Frank's death was not an accident. I can't express to you how deeply sorry I am for your loss, and for the manner in which it occurred."

"I don't need condolences, Captain," Eleanor said, dry-eyed and steely. "I need answers."

"I'll do my best to provide them."

"Good. Because the more I read your ship's records, the less I understand," Eleanor said. "You say Frank was murdered by another member of your crew... but for no _reason_ that I can discern. Lon Suder didn't have a fight with Frank. He didn't hold a grudge. He didn't stand to gain anything from Frank's death. Captain, I have no idea _why_ my brother is dead."

"Lon Suder was not like other Betazoids," Kathryn explained quietly. "In speaking to his family, we've learned that since childhood, he seemed to be missing his people's normal empathic tendencies, which made it possible for him to hurt others without experiencing any distress. His own family tried a number of medical and psychological treatments for him, but they failed. We don't know why he targeted your brother. It would appear that one day Suder had an urge to inflict violence that he was unable or unwilling to resist, and he acted on it at the first opportunity."

Eleanor did not look placated. "Then you are telling me that my brother just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Surely you can see that is a most unsatisfactory explanation for the destruction of a human life. Frank should have lived to see Earth again. He should be here with us right now!"

"It is what it is, Eleanor," Beatrice said softly before Kathryn could reply. "I don't believe anyone ever really understands why killers kill, except perhaps the killers themselves."

"I don't _want_ to be able to understand," Maisie chimed in, with tears sparkling in her eyes. "I'm _glad_ I can't. Some things are better left in the dark."

"None of this addresses the central question," Eleanor said, holding up a forestalling hand. "If Lon Suder was as abnormal as you say, how is it that no one on Voyager, in two years' time, noticed that there was something seriously wrong with him?"

"There were no indications that he was capable of murder," Kathryn said. "To all outward appearances, he was a functioning member of the crew. He completed every assignment he was given and had no history of disciplinary problems. There was simply no way to predict what happened."

"Did he not receive medical exams? Did he not interact with others on the crew?" Eleanor demanded. "There must have been signs. Someone must have noticed something. No one goes from exemplary member of the crew to _murderer_ with no warning whatsoever."

"Ultimately, everything that happens on a starship is the responsibility of the captain," Kathryn said gently. "If I could go back in time, knowing what would happen, of course I would have done things differently. I swore to protect my crew to the best of my ability, but I failed to protect Frank. For that, you have my heartfelt apol-"

"Stop," Chakotay said suddenly and loudly.

Kathryn broke off and looked at him in surprise.

"This apology isn't yours to make," Chakotay said to her in a swift aside, and then turned to Eleanor Williams.

"If you're looking for someone to blame, Mrs. Williams, blame me," he said firmly. "Suder was originally a member of my crew. If I hadn't chosen to take him on, he never would have ended up on Voyager."

"Yes, but he didn't murder anyone on _your_ ship, did he?" Eleanor pointed out. "It was only on Voyager that he ran amok."

"Suder found an outlet for his violent tendencies on my ship because we were engaged in battle almost constantly," Chakotay explained patiently. "He didn't need to go looking for a fight in those days."

"But Voyager was constantly under fire in the Delta Quadrant as well," Eleanor shot back. "Frank was involved in no less than _four_ battles in the last six months of his life. He had to be treated in Sickbay just a few weeks before his death, thanks to the Kazon. I've read my brother's personal logs, Captain. Do you realize he was terrified of dying in the Delta Quadrant? He was certain that sooner or later the Kazon would destroy the ship and everyone on it, and that his family would never know what had happened to him. It never even occurred to him that he should fear his own crewmembers more than the aliens!"

"Suder's actions shocked us all, Mrs. Williams," Kathryn said. "I wish I had been able to stop him before he acted, but I didn't, and for that I am sor-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Chakotay said, wheeling around to face Kathryn, and the savage undertone in his voice stunned her into silence. "You will not apologize for something you aren't responsible for. No one could have foreseen what happened."

"As captain," Kathryn said, her own temper flaring, "everything that happened on that ship was _my_ responsibility."

"Everything that Suder did is _Suder's_ responsibility," Chakotay shot back. "And since he isn't here, as his first captain _I_ will be the one to offer apologies on his behalf."

She couldn't believe he was doing this here and now, dragging out one of their old arguments right in front of the Williams. Whatever happened to following her lead? Whatever happened to presenting a unified front? So unready was she for handling a situation like this, that Kathryn hesitated, not sure what to say next.

"Eleanor," Beatrice said pointedly, gesturing toward the swinging door that led into the kitchen. "Let's talk. Captain, Commander, please excuse us for a moment." She put one hand on her older sister's arm and fairly pulled her into the kitchen, with Maisie following quickly behind.

As soon as they were gone, Kathryn turned to fix an intense look at Chakotay.

"Stop wasting your breath and everyone else's time," she whispered. "Her mind is made up and nothing is going to change it. Would you please stop defending me?"

"You're right, I shouldn't have to defend you," Chakotay quietly replied. "You should be defending yourself."

"Why should I? She isn't wrong," Kathryn whispered back. "I _did_ have a killer on my ship, and I _didn't_ find out until it was too late."

"That is ridiculous, and you know it," Chakotay hissed. "There's only one person responsible for the death of Frank Darwin, and that's Lon Suder."

"I'm the captain," she shot back. "I'm responsible for-"

"Yes, you're the captain. Not a martyr. That role doesn't suit you very well, Kathryn. It never has. I really wish you would move past it."

Was Chakotay really going to do this _here_? This kind of conversation belonged in the privacy of the Ready Room. "Thank you so much for that analysis. I wish I'd made you ship's counselor," she hissed back.

"Maybe you should have, if it meant you would actually listen to me for once," Chakotay retorted. "Kathryn, be reasonable. Mrs. Williams needs to know the truth about what happened to her brother: that his death was random and meaningless. That has to hurt like hell, but it's the _truth_ , and in the long run it will be better for her to know it."

"Stop trying to apply logic to an emotional situation. I brought you instead of Tuvok for a reason, Chakotay. The last thing a grieving woman needs to hear is _logic_. She needs compassion."

"The two are not mutually exclusive," Chakotay said firmly. "If you let her believe you're the one at fault, she's going to waste years mourning over something that never actually happened. Where's the compassion in that?"

Kathryn sighed forcefully and massaged her temples with her fingertips. "I really _should_ have brought Tuvok. When she comes back, we are going to let her have her say without interruption, I am going to make my apologies, and then we'll leave. That's an order."

"No," Chakotay said.

There was a dangerous pause.

" _No_?" Kathryn repeated incredulously.

"You don't get to give me orders anymore, remember?"

Kathryn stopped short, and felt a flush of embarrassment. As a matter of fact, she _hadn't_ remembered.

"So that's it?" she said slowly as she realized the implications. "You get taken out from under my command, and now it's no more Mr. Nice Guy?"

"I am being nice. I'm trying to help Mrs. Williams and protect you in the process. Stop trying to stop me."

"So you're just going to ignore my opinion on the subject?" Kathryn demanded as her anger returned in a flash.

"Who's ignoring you?" Chakotay retorted. "You're the one who's ordering me around instead of having a discussion, like I wanted."

Kathryn was too angry to trust herself to speak so she folded her arms and turned slightly away from him to stare out the window, and she could feel the tension tightening the muscles in her shoulders. Back in the kitchen, they could hear a feverishly whispered conversation between Mrs. Williams and her sisters. Obviously the two of them weren't the only ones having an argument.

Finally, Kathryn turned back to Chakotay.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I forgot things weren't like that anymore between us. Old habits, I guess."

"That's all right," he said.

"It might take me a while to excise the phrase, "That's an order," from my repertoire of comebacks," she admitted.

Chakotay got a strange smile on his face. "I wouldn't cut it out entirely, if I were you," he said. "There may be times when I _want_ you to boss me around."

She turned a surprised look on him, but at that moment the three sisters came back in the room, and it was too late to ask for clarification.

* * *

"Well," Chakotay said once they were back outside under the overcast sky, "that could have gone much worse."

He was right, Kathryn had to admit. "Thank goodness the younger sisters were there," she said. Mrs. Williams had been more gracious after returning from the kitchen; Beatrice and Maizie must have managed to talk some sense into her. They'd been able to make their exit gracefully after once more expressing their condolences.

They turned a corner, passing a shop that smelled of fish and chips. "Now aren't you glad you didn't apologize to them for something you didn't do?" Chakotay asked.

Kathryn rolled her eyes. "Am I going to have to endure an 'I told you so' every time you win an argument with me from now on?"

Chakotay frowned slightly. "I told you so," he said, as if experimenting with the phrase. "Yes, I think I like that. Feels good. I'll work it into my routine. Thanks for the suggestion, Kathryn." He patted her shoulder gratefully.

"Chakotay…" Kathryn looked at him intently. "What's going on? There's something different about you today."

Chakotay felt his hair gingerly. "What, did I forget to comb my hair today?" he quipped.

She smiled. "No, everything is gelled firmly into place, as usual. What's happened with you?"

He grew serious. "Two days ago, I went to see Dolak."

" _Dolak_?" she repeated in astonishment. "You mean the one who…"

"Led the attack against my colony? Yes."

"I didn't even realize you were considering that," Kathryn said in wonderment. "What made you decide to go see him?"

He explained to her about meeting Emetal, and the advice the young medicine man had given him in the temazcal about facing his long-neglected demons. They reached the transport station before he was done describing his encounter with Dolak, so they sat down at the tables and chairs set up on a patio outside while he finished the story.

When he was done, Kathryn gazed at Chakotay thoughtfully. "You have a lot of courage," she said softly. "If I'd been given a chance to face my father's killer, I don't know that I could have done it with as much grace."

"It was a relief to move past it, to be honest," Chakotay said. "And it was partly your doing, Kathryn."

"Me?" she said in surprise. "I never told you to go looking for Dolak."

"No, but you did tell me not to shut people out. If you hadn't said that, I never would have spoken to Emetal in the first place."

A smile slowly spread across her face. "In that case, I'm glad I could do you some good."

He met her eyes firmly. "You do me a lot of good, Kathryn."

"If it's even a fraction of the good you've done me, I'll be content," Kathryn said. "By the way, I like your cologne."

Chakotay frowned. "I'm not wearing cologne."

"Liar."

"No, really."

"I can smell it," Kathryn insisted. "It's like pine or something."

"Oh, _that_." Chakotay smiled briefly. "It's white copal incense. Emetal uses it for rituals in the temazcal. I went there again this morning."

"Oh. Copal?"

"Tree sap. It does smell a little like pine."

She could feel the curiosity rising, that same itch she got in her fingers when Voyager was closing in on the far-flung scarves of an uncharted nebula, and she could hardly resist the temptation to start the scan herself before the science officers could.

"What is it for?" she asked.

"For purification," Chakotay explained. "Purification of the body, the mind or the spirit. In the temazcal, we have experiences like the ones prompted by the akoonah, only more... palpable."

He must have read the questions in her eyes, because he smiled slightly, and went on.

"I had a vision there, the night that Emetal spoke to me. I dreamed I was in a boat, rowing down a wide river. My father was in another boat beside me."

Kathryn scooted forward in her chair, hardly aware that she was doing so, to better hear Chakotay as he continued to speak in a low voice, neither one of them paying any mind to the people passing by.

"In my dream, there was an island up ahead, in the middle of the river. My father's boat started following the current to the right of the island. Mine followed a different current, to the left. My father called out for me to follow him, but I didn't want to follow him, I wanted to go my own way, and so I ignored him and paddled all the faster. Pretty soon my father's boat was out of sight on the other side of the island, behind the trees, and I was rowing alone."

Chakotay paused.

"Suddenly, I heard a commotion in the distance. I peered through the trees and realized there was some kind of battle happening on the island. I quickly pulled my boat to shore and ran through the trees toward the noise. When I came to the shore on the other side of the island, I saw that there were Cardassians there, attacking someone. I ran toward them and tried to fight them, but they ran away and disappeared into the trees." Chakotay sighed. "They had left my father there, lying on the shore. Dead."

Kathryn put her hand softly over Chakotay's where it rested on the table. He put his other hand on top and squeezed her hand gratefully for a moment.

"I knew I had to avenge him, so I picked up a spear and went hunting for the Cardassians," Chakotay continued. "I walked the whole length of the island, looking for a fight, but I never found it. The Cardassians were gone. When I got to the end of the island, I saw that the two currents joined together again and continued down the river. But I had left my boat far behind. I had no way to get off the island. It was starting to get dark, and I thought that I might be stuck there forever."

"And then?" Kathryn asked, when Chakotay's next pause went on too long.

Chakotay tugged on his earlobe, and then straightened up in his chair and met her gaze. "Finally, in the twilight I thought I saw another boat not far downstream from me, with someone in it. It was too dark to tell who it was. I started calling out and waving, trying to get their attention and hoping they would be able to paddle upstream long enough to come and rescue me."

"And did they?" Kathryn asked.

Chakotay shrugged. "I woke up from the vision. I never found out."

Kathryn thought for a while. "Not a very satisfactory ending, was it? Aren't these visions supposed to bring you comfort, or at least enlightenment?"

"I suppose it depends on how you look at it," Chakotay said lightly. "You said yourself that something was different about me today."

She didn't take her eyes off him for a long moment. "Sometimes you fascinate me," she murmured.

"Only sometimes?" Chakotay smiled with a twinkle in his eye, and then changed the subject. "Have any plans for dinner?"

Kathryn nodded and took a deep breath, feeling as through she had just awakened from a deep sleep. "Neelix asked me to meet him in Shanghai. He wants me to see the progress he's been making with his Talaxian friends in the Delta 100."

" _Is_ he making progress?"

"So he claims. He says they're starting to remember their pasts from before their Borg assimilations. In fact, he says they want to go back home. Not to the Collective, I mean… their real homes."

Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's going to take some doing."

"Seven says a lot of the ex-drones are beginning to say the same thing," Kathryn added. "It doesn't seem likely that they'll get their wish, but then again, if they have enough determination... they just might find a way back home. We did."

"And a good thing, too." Chakotay stood up to go. "In that case, I'll see you at the debriefing tomorrow."

Almost, Kathryn asked him if he wanted to come to Shanghai, too. But no… Neelix had invited her, and it wouldn't be polite to bring someone else along. But surely Neelix wouldn't mind if that someone else was Chakotay? If she called Neelix first, maybe...

Too late. She had hesitated too long, and Chakotay was already striding through the doors into the transport station. Kathryn had to bite her lip to stop herself from calling out his name in front of all the people coming and going from the station. Chakotay's name was unusual enough that she would attract attention calling for him, and if anyone recognized her face from the newsfeeds, their privacy would evaporate.

It took Kathryn a minute or two to recover her wits, and then she gathered up the umbrella she had never needed and got into line for a transporter pad. Chakotay had already disappeared.

It was only after she had rematerialized in Shanghai, to Neelix's effusive welcome, that it occurred to her to wonder why on earth she thought she needed privacy for such a simple task as asking for Chakotay's company.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** Hit that review button and let me know what you think!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"All right, Kathryn," Joan said, settling down into her chair and getting comfortable. "You've been recording your desires for several weeks now. Let's talk about the results. Why don't you start with anything on your list that concerns Mark."

Kathryn scrolled through the PADD she had been carrying with her all that time, and began to read entries to her counselor.

She wanted Mark to have what he had always dreamed of: someone to come home to every night. Someone who could argue philosophy with him until the sun went down. To have his lifelong wish to be a father fulfilled. To see him free from pain and grief. To see him with his friends and family, smiling and wholly himself again.

"What these all seem to boil down to," Kathryn concluded when she had read them all, "is that I just want him to be happy."

Joan nodded thoughtfully. ""Very good. All right then, let's hear what you had to say about Chakotay."

Kathryn took a deep breath and began to read the entries for Chakotay.

An urge to take away his pain. A desire to help him relax by massaging his hands. An absurd, fleeting wish to go back in time to the day the two of them had searched for Captain Braxton in Santa Monica, walking on the boardwalk bathed by golden sunshine while they laughed at the eccentrically-dressed Californians of the 20th century. A deep and somewhat puzzling curiosity over what it would be like to see Chakotay undergoing purification in an incense-filled temazcal. And over and over again, many variations on the same theme: "I want to make him happy."

"Now that's interesting," Joan broke in suddenly.

"That I want to make him happy?" Kathryn frowned. "But it's the exact same thing I said about Mark."

Joan pursed her lips slightly. "Is it?"

A short silence fell. Finally, Kathryn gestured impatiently at the PADD on the coffee table. "Joan, do my lists actually tell us anything helpful? I already knew that I wanted both of them to be happy. I'm sorry to say this exercise may have been a waste of time. What do you think?"

Joan allowed herself a small smile. "I think you know more about what you want than you think you do," she said. "Kathryn, here's your new assignment: take this PADD back home, study it carefully, and see if you can come to a conclusion. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you have only a week left before you owe Chakotay an answer. Did you have any more entries to read?"

"There's only one more," Kathryn said. "It's…" She trailed off, looking at the last item and feeling a little embarrassed about it. "I wrote that I wanted to play. Just have fun with Chakotay and not let myself worry about anything else for a few hours." She looked up apologetically. "It's a little childish, isn't it?"

"Did you do it?" Joan asked.

"I haven't had a chance to decide. I only wrote it last night, after I said goodbye to him in Lancashire." Her eyes grew distant, thinking about it. Chakotay had been so different yesterday. He had been almost... carefree, an attitude she would not have expected from a man with a trial hanging over his head and a personal tragedy to work through. It reminded her of how Chakotay had been on New Earth: living fully in the moment, with no responsibilities for the future resting on his shoulders, and no compulsion to relive the past. She had always envied him for that. She had wasted the only true rest she could have enjoyed in the Delta Quadrant with obsessing about collecting insects and studying their disease, while Chakotay had focused on making their rudimentary shelter into a home. Their own personal little paradise.

 _"I can't sacrifice the present waiting for a future that may never happen,"_ he'd said then.

He had been more right than she had been willing to admit. Why couldn't she have listened to him? When would she ever learn to let go of her fears and just... _be_?

* * *

Chakotay finished the entry in his PADD and leaned back on the couch with a sigh. The fabric of the blanket his mother had woven felt rough under his neck. It had accompanied him to every place he had stayed since her death, this blanket - usually draped over the back of a chair, the diamond pattern now as familiar to him as the back of his hand.

He glanced down at the PADD, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction. He had been lax in his personal log-keeping since returning to Earth, but this morning he had woken up thinking of the old man in Huatabampo who was working so diligently to preserve the history of the Rubber Tree People through these years of upheaval, and had been struck by a sudden urge to do his part. The urgency had stuck with him even through today's debriefings, and he had dived into the project as soon as he got back to his San Francisco apartment.

What he _really_ wanted was to be at Huatabampo, working on the teak tree behind Sekaya's house, but the fact of the matter was, he had gone as far as he could with the project until he figured out exactly what he was going to make with all that wood. Sekaya had all the furniture she needed now, and nothing handmade would look right in this sleek and modern apartment provided by Starfleet.

And so he was keeping himself occupied with PADD work, trying not to wonder if Kathryn was ever going to be within his reach. Still another week to go before her self-imposed deadline. Chakotay considered himself a patient man, but after all those years in which the command structure stood between them, he was done with waiting. What he ached for was no-holds-barred passion.

Kathryn had always been so carefully controlled around him when it came to their quasi-romance that if he hadn't known any better, he might have feared she wasn't capable of giving him the passion he needed. But he sensed on a gut level that was wrong. Kathryn had an intensity to her that was tailor-made to his tastes, an intensity tempered only by her sense of duty - first to the crew, and now to Mark. Her loyalty and willingness to sacrifice her desires for the needs of others was exactly what made her so lovable to Chakotay, even though it sometimes meant a sacrifice on his part, too. But he was anxious to see Kathryn get her dues at last. She had earned the right to pursue her own happiness now.

And, if Chakotay was honest, he felt _he_ had earned the right to a little happiness, too.

As much as Kathryn's obvious concern for Mark bothered Chakotay at times, it was also comforting. If she could be that dedicated to Mark, she could be that dedicated to _him_. Chakotay couldn't shake the conviction that Kathryn would be one hell of a catch, once he managed to actually catch her.

A beep drew him out of his thoughts, indicating that a call was coming through to his computer in the other room. Grateful for the diversion, Chakotay dropped the PADD and went to answer it.

It was Kathryn. Chakotay had to suppress a smile; his grandfather had always insisted that thinking about someone would make them think about you. An old superstition, of course, and yet...

"Did you get the ticket I sent you?" Kathryn asked.

"I did." Chakotay had been surprised to find it waiting in his personal database when he got home: a seat at the world boxing championship match in Paraguay next week, an event that had long ago been sold out. "How did you get it?"

Kathryn shrugged casually. "I know someone who knows someone who knows someone."

Chakotay smiled. "Well, why didn't you get two tickets while you were at it, so you could come with me?"

"Don't think I didn't try," Kathryn said. "I was lucky to get even one. You go, and enjoy yourself. You deserve a break."

And here Chakotay had been worried that Kathryn might be upset with him after the way he'd asserted his independence in Lancaster the other day. Apparently that wasn't the case. There wasn't the smallest hint of constraint in her mannerism now.

"What are you doing tonight?" Kathryn asked.

He briefly toyed with the thought of making up something impressive-sounding, but Kathryn knew him too well and he doubted he would get away with it. "Not much. Date with a replicator."

"You should come over."

"I don't want to intrude. I'm sure you have plans."

"Yes, I do, but you won't intrude on them," Kathryn assured him. "I have an old friend coming over, one of my Academy roommates. I want you to come and meet her."

"I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."

"You won't be. Her husband is coming too."

"Ah, so you want me to rescue _you_ from being the third wheel?" Chakotay quipped.

She smiled wryly. "Well, that wasn't why I asked you, but by all means, come and rescue me."

* * *

Chakotay took the turbolift up to Kathryn's floor, and stepped out into the courtyard ringed with doors to various apartments. There was a man dressed in blue jeans and an untucked button-up shirt sitting at one of the little tables near Kathryn's door. He stood up when he saw Chakotay coming.

"You Chakotay?" he asked.

"I am."

"I'm Carl." He stuck out a hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you."

Carl nodded and made no move to go in Kathryn's quarters, but stood there with one fist shoved in his pocket, bobbing up and down on his toes as he looked around the courtyard.

"So you're married to one of Kathryn's Academy roommates?" Chakotay asked.

"Yep."

"And where do you two live?"

"We're in California."

A silence fell.

"Where in California?" Chakotay prompted him.

"Arroyo Grande Valley."

"And what do you do there?"

"I work in agriculture." For the first time Carl seemed to perk up and take interest in the conversation. "I test genetic modifications made to crops, to tailor them for terraforming projects. That's how I met Lettie. She was assigned to the Hood for the terraforming of Browder IV, and they brought me and some of our researchers aboard to consult."

"You're not Starfleet?"

Carl shook his head. "Spending half my life cooped up on a ship with hundreds of other people packed in like sardines? No thank you. In California my nearest neighbor is a mile away. That suits me better."

Chakotay nodded in understanding. "Solitude can be a good thing. Not everyone's a people person."

"I like people just fine." Carl looked at Chakotay with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "But only in small doses, you understand. Speaking of which-" Carl jerked his thumb at the apartment. "-you, uh, might be sorry you came."

"Why is that?"

"Those two are getting downright giddy. My wife and your Kathryn. I came out here so I could hear myself think for a minute. But I guess we'd better go in now, or Lettie will think I got lost accidentally on purpose."

"Does that happen often?" Chakotay asked.

"Tolerably often."

Carl opened the door to Kathryn's apartment. Immediately Chakotay could hear laughter coming from the living room: a high-pitched giggle that was definitely not Kathryn's.

They walked in, and there was Kathryn sitting on the couch next to a blond woman. They were laughing loudly over something together. As a matter of fact, Chakotay could not remember ever seeing Kathryn laugh that hard. Her cheeks were bright pink and when she saw Chakotay she couldn't immediately speak, but waved her hand helplessly in front of her face as though she were trying to get air. She was wearing gray leggings and a blue frock jacket and she looked far happier than Chakotay remembered seeing in a long time.

"My wife, Lettie," Carl said to Chakotay.

The blond woman stopped giggling - mostly - and stood to shake hands with Chakotay. She had a very white, very pretty smile, and her well-tanned, long legs were showing to perfection against the white of her sundress. Carl was a lucky guy.

Did she ever have a high-pitched giggle, though. Lettie had hardly sat down when she caught Kathryn's eyes, and suddenly they were both laughing hysterically again even though no one had said anything. Carl sat heavily down in an armchair and gave Chakotay a long-suffering look.

"Want to go back out to the courtyard?" he muttered under his breath.

Chakotay shook his head ruefully and sat in the other armchair. Kathryn threw her arms around Lettie's shoulders and shook her affectionately.

"Oh, Lettie," she gasped. "Never, never, never change. Oh! Tell Chakotay - he missed it - tell Chakotay about the Vulcan bartender. He'll like that one."

"Oh, this is a good one!" Lettie said eagerly, scooting to sit on the edge of the couch and rubbing her hands in anticipation. "Okay, so, once when I was on a mission to Caitia I got some leave time and I wound up at this bar that had a Vulcan bartender. And while I was sitting there some Andorians came up and asked him where he was from. And he said Vulcan, of course..."

"There's no 'of course,'" Kathryn objected, tapping imperiously on Lettie's arm. "Vulcan has colonies, you know."

"Shhh!" Lettie slapped her hand away. "I'm telling it!"

"Sorry."

They laughed like children.

"Anyway," Lettie said at last, trying to calm down. "Where was I?"

"The Andorians were asking-" Kathryn started.

"Right, right, right. So then the Andorians asked the bartender where on Vulcan he was born. I guess they'd been there for some conference or something... or maybe it was for a vacation, although I don't know why anyone would go to Vulcan for a vacation-"

Kathryn looked offended. "Lettie, I went to Vulcan for a vacation once, and it was very nice."

Lettie gave her a weird look. "What did you do there? Meditate? Bake yourself in the middle of a desert?"

"I helped Tuvok shop for meditation lamps."

"Well, that sounds just... I don't know..."

"Fascinating?" Kathryn suggested.

"I was thinking more like, boring beyond belief."

They both howled with laughter.

"You'll never hear the end of the story," Carl predicted in an undertone, leaning toward Chakotay.

Chakotay was beginning to wonder about that himself. He had just noticed there were several glasses of dark red liquid on the coffee table. In fact, Kathryn and Lettie were both taking swigs from their glasses now. Chakotay couldn't help but feel a smile beginning to tug at his lips. So that explained the giggling, then. He had never seen Kathryn drink more than one glass of wine at a time. Her discipline had always impressed him, actually. Eight years in a high-stress environment and as far as he knew she had never once gotten drunk. Apparently she held herself to a different standard at home. Chakotay couldn't be sorry he came, now, if only to see Kathryn like this.

"So where on Vulcan was the bartender born?" he asked patiently when the women had calmed down somewhat.

"Oh, yes." Lettie took a deep breath. "He told the Andorians he was born in the Kir District. And they said-" She giggled and wheezed helplessly.

"And they said, 'What part?'" Kathryn supplied.

"I'm telling it!" Lettie slapped Kathryn's knee scoldingly.

"Sorry."

"The Andorians said, 'What part?'" Lettie's voice had gotten so high in her hysterics that she sounded like she'd been sucking helium. "And the bartender said... he said..."

"All of me," Carl cut in.

Lettie threw a cushion at Carl.

"I was telling it!" she cried.

Chakotay thought about it for a long moment, and hesitantly chuckled.

"You didn't miss the point of the joke," Carl said, looking at Chakotay knowingly. "It just isn't that funny."

Kathryn put her forehead on Lettie's shoulder and laughed helplessly. Lettie patted her hair and giggled some more.

"I'm going to go pour you a drink," Carl said to Chakotay, starting to get up.

"I guess if I can't beat them, I might as well join them," Chakotay said.

"No, no, no," Kathryn said hastily. "You're a guest, Carl. I'll go get it. I was actually just going to get up and get some game or something for us to play, anyway." She picked up her own glass and slid past Lettie and padded toward the kitchen in her bare feet.

Chakotay followed her to the kitchen and watched as she retrieved a carafe filled with deep red liquid, and filled a glass for Chakotay and then refilled her own.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Chakotay asked, picking up his glass and trying not to look alarmed at how full she had just filled hers.

Kathryn looked at him in surprise. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Chakotay was having trouble suppressing a grin. "Well, as I'm just now discovering, you're charming when you're drunk, but if you have another glass, you're going to end up falling asleep."

"What?" she said, putting her glass down and turning to face him with hand on hip. "I am not drunk!"

"If you say so. How many glasses have you had?"

She looked away and sighed in exasperation, and then looked back with a little smile touching her lips. "If you must know, Lettie and Carl live next door to a vineyard, and this is grape juice that their neighbor hand-crushed yesterday. This is what they give to their _children_ to drink."

"Oh." He took a taste. Sure enough, no bitter hint of alcohol or synthehol, just sweet, fresh goodness straight from the vine. "Color me surprised. This is delicious."

She took a sip and laughed at him, long and low. "You really thought I was drunk? I must have let my hair down more than I thought."

He shrugged a little sheepishly. "I guess I've never seen you with a girl friend before."

"Haven't you?" She thought a moment. "I guess you haven't." She shook her head. "Well, in that case you should be glad I cancelled what I was supposed to be doing tonight, and invited you and Lettie over instead. Otherwise, you wouldn't have had the privilege of seeing me act like a drunken fool."

"Why, what were you supposed to be doing tonight?"

"I was supposed to have my Aunt Martha over."

Chakotay frowned. "The Aunt Martha who was so proud of your ancestor Shannon O'Donnell?"

"That's the one. I was going to tell her the - ahem - the truth about Shannon tonight. I wasn't really looking forward to it. She would have been crushed."

Chakotay was mildly scandalized. "And you canceled on her at the last minute? Kathryn!"

"Well..." she said defensively. "It wasn't so much that I was afraid to tell her. It's just that I was more in the mood to have fun tonight, and my counselor gave me a really dangerous piece of advice-"

Lettie walked into the kitchen. "Kathryn, can we replicate some snacks or something? Something sweet and horribly unhealthy. I'm feeling reckless."

"Help yourself," Kathryn said, waving toward the replicator.

"What are you in the mood for?" Lettie called over her shoulder.

"Oh... I'm thinking tiramisu. Chakotay, what do you want?"

They batted around several dessert ideas for a minute, until Lettie got impatient and said: "Let's just replicate some of everything," and promptly did exactly that.

"So what was the advice?" Chakotay asked Kathryn as they followed Lettie into the living room, laden with dishes.

"Advice?"

"You said Joan gave you dangerous advice."

"Oh, yes. She told me to put some serious thought into doing what I want, for a change." She smiled impishly. "I'm finding it very liberating."

They put the food down on the coffee table, and Chakotay returned to his armchair. Kathryn stood there for a moment, brow creased slightly, and then said: "I'm going to go find a game for us to play. Lettie, will you come give me a hand?"

Lettie had just settled back into the couch, but she got up willingly enough and the two of them disappeared into the other room.

Chakotay glanced over at Carl. "Did I hear Kathryn say you have kids?"

Carl nodded. "Three of them."

"How old?"

"They're 7, 5 and 3."

Chakotay whistled between his teeth. "So how does that work out when Lettie's out in space? Do you take time off from your terraforming projects, or do you have a family member who helps out?"

"Oh, Lettie doesn't go into space anymore," Carl said. "She retired from Starfleet when we got married, and she does research with me now. It's easier for us to arrange schedules that way, so one of us can always be with the kids." He shrugged. "And we take them out into the fields with us sometimes, anyway. They're old enough to be able to help with a few things, and our oldest is even learning how to use some of the equipment. She loves it. Thinks it's more fun than playing with toys."

Lettie came back in, walked over to Chakotay, and touched his shoulder. "Is it all right if I trade you seats?" she asked. "So I can sit by Carl?"

"Sure." He got up and moved over to the couch, just as Kathryn showed up with a deck of cards in her hand and came over to the couch too.

Chakotay scooted over to make room for Kathryn. She sat down and then scooted over so that she was sitting right next to him, with their knees nearly touching. He gave her a slightly puzzled look, and she readily returned his gaze and held the eye contact for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary, with the barest hint of a smile on her face. Chakotay had never seen quite that expression on Kathryn's face before, and he tried to work out what it could mean. It looked something like the gleam in a tiger's eye moments before it sprang on some poor unsuspecting prey. What was Kathryn up to?

"So, who's dealing?" Lettie asked.

Finally, Kathryn dropped her gaze.

"Youngest first," she said, and tossed the deck to Lettie. "Deal them out, seven each."

"Why couldn't we play poker?" Lettie said plaintively, beginning to shuffle the cards nonetheless. "Something I'm actually good at."

"Lettie used to do a little acting on the side, back at the Academy," Kathryn explained to Chakotay.

"So as you can imagine, she's a terror at the poker table," Carl put in. "The more you try to read her face, the more confused you get. "

"She does this thing," Kathryn said, "where if she gets a good hand, she lets you see her get excited. Only you know that the last time she had a good hand, she acted grumpy. So you second-guess yourself. Is she acting this time, or not? And you never guess right. At least I never did."

Lettie smiled smugly as she began dealing out cards. "Which is why you don't play poker with me anymore," she said. "Coward."

"It's more a question of choosing my battles wisely," Kathryn said coolly, taking a bite of tiramisu.

They started to play. The game went slowly for the first round, as Lettie, Carl and Chakotay worked to learn the rules, but by the second round they started to get the hang of it and the play moved more quickly.

It came around to Kathryn's turn. She frowned at her cards for several seconds, and then turned to Chakotay.

"Do you have a draw-two?" she asked.

Chakotay shot her an amused look. "I'm not sure you understand the rules of your own game, Kathryn. This isn't Go Fish. You don't get to know what I have in my hand."

"No, no, I'm trying to help you out," she said. "If you have a draw-two, then I can play mine now, and you can put yours on top, and then Lettie will get slammed with both of them."

Lettie scoffed loudly. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing, except I'm a little alarmed by the fact that you have only one card left in your hand," Kathryn shot back. "So, do you?" she added, looking back at Chakotay. "Have a draw-two?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "If I say no, then you're going to slam _me_ with your draw-two, and if I say yes, you're going to hit me with a draw-four or something worse, aren't you?"

"Ouch, that hurts. After all these years, you don't trust me?"

Chakotay studied her face carefully. "Not when it comes to a competition, I don't."

She looked offended. "I'm not playing against _you_."

"Sorry," Chakotay said. "Not buying it. Play your card already."

She gave him that strange tiny smile again, the tiger-on-the-prowl look, and without warning her hand darted out, grabbed him by the wrist, and dragged his handful of cards toward herself. Chakotay pulled his hand back, but it was too late, she had already seen his cards.

"Ah, so you do have a draw-two!" Kathryn said triumphantly, and threw a draw-two of her own down on the pile.

Chakotay looked at it and smiled. "I stand corrected. I should have trusted you."

"Yes, you should have," Kathryn agreed.

Chakotay laid his draw-two on top of hers. Lettie's mouth dropped open.

"Draw four, Lettie," Kathryn said.

"I'm not drawing anything!" she objected strenuously. "You two are cheating!"

"There's nothing in the rules that says you can't work with someone else if you want to," Carl said placidly.

"Don't you take their side!" Lettie said, swatting Carl's knee. "This is not a team game!"

"Sorry, we don't play any way but as a team," Kathryn said, grinning at Chakotay.

"We tried to play against each other once or twice," Chakotay agreed. "It never seemed to work out."

Lettie pouted theatrically. "I was about to win!"

"Exactly!" Kathryn and Chakotay said at the same moment, and then exchanged glances and laughed.

Lettie sighed heavily, but she drew four cards. "Carl, if you have a draw-two, now's the time to make them pay."

Carl laid down a blue 3.

"Seriously?" Lettie complained.

"What? I don't have anything better!"

It was back to Kathryn. She helpfully scooted even closer to Chakotay and held up her cards so he could see. She silently pointed to one of her cards and then to one of his and looked at him questioningly. He nodded his head, and she played the card she had indicated. Then he laid down a reverse, sending the play back to Kathryn, and she changed the color to one that suited Chakotay's hand better.

"Yellow?" Carl said. "Come _on_. I've got nothing." He drew a new card, but it wasn't yellow either. "Pass."

Lettie had to draw too, and growled when she didn't get a yellow, either. Chakotay smiled broadly and put down one of his yellows.

"You guys are big fat cheaters," Lettie complained. She got up and scooted her armchair right up against Carl's and held up her cards so that he could see. "Well, honey, if we can't beat them..."

They played for the rest of the game like that, two against two, but in the end Chakotay was the first to get rid of all his cards.

"Nice work," Kathryn told him, patting his knee, as Lettie threw down her remaining cards with a playful growl. Carl started gathering up all the cards for reshuffling.

"I couldn't have done it without you," Chakotay said.

Kathryn smiled at him sweetly, and fiddled with her earring. "You owe me big time, mister."

It was the first time Chakotay had noticed that Kathryn was wearing earrings tonight. Suddenly he found himself fixated on them. He had seen her wear earrings on occasion during her off-hours on Voyager, but they had always been studs or tiny hoops. These were neither. It looked like they were a more dangly kind, with drop-shaped pearls at the ends. Chakotay found himself fighting an almost irresistible urge to tuck Kathryn's hair back behind her ear so he could see them better.

Better not. Carl and Lettie might get the wrong idea about them if he did. Can't have that. Definitely can't have that.

Chakotay realized he was still staring at Kathryn. He cleared his throat and quickly looked away. When he glanced back, Kathryn was still looking at him, smiling a little from their victory, her blue eyes unusually bright. Had she done something different with her makeup? He tried to look without looking. Eventually he decided not. The makeup looked the same, it was Kathryn herself who was different tonight. It was as though she were more... _here_ than she usually was, if that made any sense.

"Here we go," Carl said, starting to deal out cards again.

"No teaming up this time," Lettie said, looking at Chakotay and Kathryn significantly, "or you're going to be responsible for giving me gray hairs. More of them. Look at this!" She pointed significantly at her hair. "I started finding gray hairs about a year ago. Me! And I'm still in my forties!"

"I can't even see them," Kathryn said soothingly.

"Well, I can," Lettie said. "And look at Carl! He hasn't had a single one, not one gray hair, and he's five years older than me! It isn't fair! At least men can look good with gray hair, but women never do."

"I disagree," Chakotay said. "My mother went gray early. She looked beautiful. Especially when she took it out of a braid at the end of the day and it was long and wavy."

Lettie smiled and inclined her head graciously. "I stand corrected, then. Looks like you didn't inherit her genes, though."

Suddenly Chakotay had to be very careful not to look in Kathryn's direction. "That's right, I've never had anything but completely black hair. No gray hairs at all."

"Nope, not one," Kathryn confirmed straight-faced.

"Not since I started coloring it," Chakotay added.

"Wait, what?" Lettie burst out laughing.

"Chakotay had the salt-and-pepper look when I first met him," Kathryn said, looking at him sidelong with a mischievous smile. "Very sexy."

"Okay, here we go," Carl said, tossing a card on the last pile. "You first, Kathryn."

They started playing the next round, but Chakotay's head was reeling so fast he could hardly see his cards. Had Kathryn really just called him sexy? Right in front of her friends? She had never said such a thing to him even when they were alone. He eyed the glass of juice in front of Kathryn and had to remind himself that it wasn't wine. All right, so Kathryn wasn't drunk, but something about her had been different the whole night. Maybe in the excitement of reuniting with Lettie, and inspired by her friend's carefree attitude, Kathryn had accidentally blurted something out that she hadn't meant to say.

But it didn't seem like it had been an accident. Judging by the sidelong glance she had given Chakotay as she spoke, it seemed more like she was hoping to provoke a response from him. He risked a glance back over at Kathryn. Sure enough, she was watching him with that stalking-tiger look. Chakotay found himself getting completely flustered. Why was she doing this? What had brought it on? Did she mean anything by it, or was she just playing with him?

She had never played with him quite like that before.

"Ha!" Lettie burst out, wrenching his attention away from Kathryn. "It's payback time!" She plucked a card from her hand and slapped it down on the table. "A big, fat, beautiful draw-four for Chakotay. Oh, revenge is sweet!"

They went on playing the game for several more rounds, with Lettie getting more and more animated as time went on, until even Carl was infected by her high spirits. After a while, Chakotay gave up trying to figure out why Kathryn was being so playful, and just enjoyed it. It had been much too long since he had been in an atmosphere like this. It felt as though a knot in his chest had been loosened, and he could breathe again.

Finally, as the night wore on, it seemed like Lettie was coming down from her sugar high, and she and Carl starting saying, reluctantly, that they had better go back home and relieve their babysitter. They put the cards away and Lettie and Carl carried the glasses into the kitchen. In the suddenly quiet living room, Chakotay helped Kathryn gather up the dirty plates.

"I'll go recycle these," Chakotay said, picking up the stack.

He started to go around the corner into the kitchen, but then he almost immediately turned around and came right back into the living room, plates still in hand.

"What's wrong?" Kathryn asked.

Chakotay put the plates back down on the coffee table and sat next to Kathryn on the couch again with a strange expression on his face.

"What?" she asked again.

He cleared his throat. "Lettie and Carl were... having a moment in your kitchen. I don't think my presence would have enhanced it in any way."

Kathryn laughed, quickly tried to silence herself lest Carl and Lettie hear, and immediately choked on another burst of laughter, her eyes squeezing shut from mirth. With heroic effort she stopped at last, but then had the misfortune of catching Chakotay's eyes to see that he was trying not to chuckle, too. They spent the next minute violently suppressing their laughter.

"I can't believe they're still in there," Chakotay whispered when they at last managed to calm down.

"They're acting like a couple of newlyweds," Kathryn whispered back.

"They're going to get chapped lips."

Kathryn tipped her head back against the couch cushion, one hand pressed to her forehead, and laughed long and low. Her hair tumbled back and Chakotay almost got a good look at her earrings. Just one strand of hair in the way. Without even thinking, he lifted his hand and brushed it back. She turned her head and gave him a startled look.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I just... like your earrings. I haven't seen these before."

"My father gave them to me," she said. "For my 18th birthday. I found them in storage this week and thought it would be good to wear them again."

"They're nice."

She studied him quietly for a moment. "I'm so glad you came over," she said.

"Am I better company than your Aunt Martha, then?"

"Just..." She held her forefinger and thumb very close together to show him how much better, while her eyes twinkled at him. "Don't tell her, all right?"

Chakotay studied her for a moment. "Did you really like my hair back when it was gray?" he asked suddenly.

"Mmm. Very distinguished."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Chakotay asked.

"Please do."

"I liked it back when your hair was long. When you let it fall down all around your shoulders." His voice dropped down to a near-whisper. "Very sexy."

He wasn't quite sure how she'd react to that, but to his relief Kathryn just smiled, with a faint hint of pink stealing across her cheeks.

"I'm glad you came," she said again.

"Me too. I didn't really know what to expect."

Kathryn frowned slightly. "Why not?"

"I never do. I've never been sure, on any given day, whether I'm going to encounter Kathryn or Captain Janeway," he said.

Her smile faded a little, and there was a long pause. "And which one were you hoping for?" she asked, unexpectedly serious.

"You know, it's funny," he said slowly. "One or the other's never enough. I like it best when you're both at the same time. Like tonight." He paused, and looked down at his glass. "Are you sure this isn't alcoholic? I don't think I'm making an ounce of sense."

She was looking at him wonderingly. "Actually," she said, "you're making more sense than you know."

He chuckled, but he could feel himself beginning to come down from his giddy high and was starting to feel slightly foolish. "That's only because you've had as much of this grape juice as I have. I better get home to bed before my hangover strikes."

Kathryn followed Chakotay slowly to the door. "I'll see you at work tomorrow?" she asked.

"If I don't call in sick," he quipped.

"I'm not going to face the debriefing on the Malons without you," Kathryn said. "If you call in sick, then so will I."

"Because that wouldn't look suspicious at all, both of us absent the same day."

"You think people would talk?"

Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "Considering how much our crew loves gossip? I know they would."

Kathryn smiled slowly. "What would they say?"

Chakotay took a deep breath. "Probably that…"

"What?"

He tried to shrug casually. "Probably that we'd gone off on another moonlit sail on Lake George, just like the last time we went on the lam together during a work shift."

"You do owe me another one of those," Kathryn pointed out.

"I hadn't forgotten."

"Good, because I intend to hold you to it. And I want the real Lake George this time," Kathryn said firmly. "No holodeck simulations."

"Your wish is my command. New York is just a transporter ride away."

Kathryn smiled, and then sighed. "I suppose we'd better be responsible and not miss work tomorrow, though. Save it for another time."

"If you think telling Admiral Hayes all about the Malon sounds like more fun than going for a sail with me, Kathryn, just say so."

Kathryn made an exasperated sound. "You know very well which one I'd prefer. Don't tempt me."

"I wish I'd known it was this easy to tempt you. I might have tried it a long time ago."

"Yes, and then I'd end up facing seven court martials instead of six. Go home, Chakotay. You're a bad influence on me."

"Yes, ma'am."

She suddenly laughed. "Don't say that to me."

"You used to like it when I 'yes ma'am'-ed you."

"That was then. Now you're a strong and independent man who doesn't listen to me anymore."

"I've been listening to you all night," Chakotay objected.

"I'll put you in for a commendation," Kathryn said dryly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have two lovebirds in my kitchen who need to be broken up so I can get some sleep tonight. I'll see you in the morning."

Chakotay stepped out into the courtyard. "If I decide to show up."

"If you don't, I'm revoking the commendation." Kathryn pushed the door control and it slid shut on him with finality.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** Thank you to Wileret, Alycia Coyle, lynnki and bevfan for your reviews! I had a LOT of fun writing this chapter, and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it. Let me know what you thought! _


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